


There He Goes

by scorpio_15



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician), Tommy Ratliff (Musician)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Explicit Sexual Content, Implied Character Death, M/M, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-30
Updated: 2014-02-27
Packaged: 2017-12-06 09:38:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 38,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/734220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scorpio_15/pseuds/scorpio_15
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s 2014.  Adam is a success, a world-famous star whose hit album “Trespassing” and sold-out international tour catapulted him into household name status.  He should be thrilled; he’s achieved everything he set out to accomplish.  But there’s one thing missing: his husband.  The man he fell in love with while on tour, the man he married, the man he planned to raise a child with, is dead.  Now, six months after Jacob’s death, Adam is a father thanks to his surrogate, Danielle, and he loves his son very much.  But he is still grieving and lonely.  On a chilly afternoon in New York, he meets a self-indulgent, impulsive yet tenderhearted man who is ready for a life change.  Sparks fly, but in a way that neither of them could ever have predicted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I own nothing. None of this happened.
> 
> A thousand thank yous to my amazing betas: pyrosgf, jobhead, OutlandoGirl, and Sewardlicious.  
>  

[](http://s1108.photobucket.com/user/scorpfic/media/Jacob_zps3ca25f1f.jpg.html)  
Jacob

[](http://s1108.photobucket.com/user/scorpfic/media/Ravi_zps46a3035d.jpg.html)  
Ravi

1

November 12, 2014

Soft. Everything was very, very soft. The room held only the glow from a small table lamp. A dark blue comforter draped the bed, so thick and luxurious that it molded around his thighs where he sat. His toes pushed deep into the plush carpet. Soft. Just like the tiny fist curled around his thumb, so pudgy with baby fat. Faint rose bloom hues touched delicate skin on cheeks, chin and nose. Adam’s heart was soft, too, sort of melty and sighing. He sat on the side of his bed for a long time, looking down at his sleeping son, feeling the warmth of unconditional love radiate everywhere. He wouldn’t be surprised if his entire house was a shining beacon to all of New York.

He stared and stared, wondering if freckles would eventually appear on that little nose. “I’ll teach you to love them,” he said, then brushed his free thumb across his perfect boy’s cheek. Ravi Jacob Lambert. Adam sighed. “My little Ra, you were supposed to have two daddies. I’m so sorry it didn’t work out that way.” He blinked back a tear. The grief was still so fresh after only six months of mourning. “You would’ve loved him. He loved you the moment you existed.” Adam remembered the expression of glee on Jacob’s face during the ultrasound. It was a cruel twist of fate that his life had been snuffed out only five days after hearing their son’s heartbeat. Adam sniffled, missing him anew, but then smiled when Ravi opened his eyes and let out a teeny yawn. “How did you get so beautiful?” The infant yawned again, wider this time and it came with a noise so precious that Adam’s heart went into puddle mode.

“I can’t believe you’re really here.” He wiggled his thumb so that Ravi’s arm moved. The baby’s blue eyes shifted as if he were wondering how that had happened, then he snuggled deeper into Adam’s arms with the smallest of movements and fell asleep again.

“Watch over us,” Adam said to his lost love. “If you have any power wherever you are now, please help me be a good daddy.” He was getting lost in thoughts of worry mixed with grief when his phone began to vibrate. Carefully, Adam laid his son in the co-sleeper (a three-sided bassinette that attached to the bed), walked into the living room and answered his phone.

“Hey mama, how you doin’?”

Danielle’s voice sounded tired as she replied, “Good. Still sore, but good. How’s little Ra?”

“Cute and sleeping and just perfect.” 

Danielle laughed softly, tiredly. 

“Are you really okay, Dani?”

“Yeah, just worn out is all. You?”

“Well, I didn’t get much sleep last night, but I guess I gotta get used to that, huh?” 

“Totally. You’ll have raccoon eyes for a while, babe,” said Danielle with a chuckle. “So how’s the milk supply? Did I pump enough?”

“Yep. It’s in the freezer, enough for a few days until I get him on formula. You did great, you did really…” He paused, feeling a rush of gratitude for the umpteenth time in the past year.

“Adam?”

“I’m here, I just…I can’t believe you did that for us, I….” Tears threatened to spill. “Do you miss him…do you miss Ravi?”

“Of course I do,” said Danielle, “but he was always your baby, Adam, always. I never let myself forget that.”

“You mean mine and Jacob’s baby.”

“No, I mean yours. You know I loved Jacob, but for me, the whole point of this was so that you could raise a child of your own. In my heart, I did this for you. I carried him for you.”

“I love you,” he whispered, his hands trembling with emotion. The phone slipped from his ear an inch.

Danielle sniffled. “Love you, too.”

“Dani…I never planned on being a single dad.”

“I know, but you’ll be amazing anyway. You took all the classes, you prepared for this for so long and you have a natural gift with children. You’re gonna do great, and there’s so many people on your side. Me and your parents and all your friends…you know we’ll be there for you.”

In a voice like a child’s, Adam confided the thing he’d hidden from everyone since Jacob died. “I’m scared.” There was silence for a moment, and he just sat on his oversized couch with his fingers to his mouth, waiting for the comfort and reassurance he so desperately needed. Finally, Danielle spoke.

“Sure you are, but you remember this. My genes are in that baby and so are yours, which means that even if you screw up a little, he’s still gonna turn out awesome.” Adam managed a small laugh as Danielle continued. “And you’ll never be alone, I’ll always be his mama. As soon as I’m healed, I’ll be over there to help you, okay?”

“Okay.” Adam took a few steadying breaths, willing the lump in his throat to dissolve. “Theo is taking care of you right? Helping you and being a good boyfriend so I don’t have to kick his ass?”

Danielle giggled, no doubt remembering when Adam had threatened that very thing after she’d started dating Theo a year ago. “Yes, he is, no ass kicking required. And don’t forget, he’s not the one who almost passed out in the delivery room.”

“It’s not my fault,” Adam protested, jumping on the lighthearted subject at once, “the doctor practically shoved the placenta in my face! Educational hospitals…sheesh. Theo woulda gone down too, I swear.” They both chuckled about it for a moment, then Dani said she was getting sleepy and needed to rest. After exchanging I love yous, Adam hung up and walked back to the bedroom.

He stood in the doorway, struggling with himself, with the loneliness and spikes of fear being driven into his heart by a well-worn hammer. Then Ravi sneezed, the tiniest and cutest sneeze ever, and Adam shoved the hammer away. Smiling, he lay down on the bed to gaze at his son. I have a son, he thought, still astounded at the very idea. “We gotta be brave, little Ra,” he said. After fifteen minutes of silent heart talk, he fell asleep with his hand touching Ravi’s. In ten minutes, the teeny fingers were curled around his thumb again.

Exactly one hour later Adam woke up to the sound of baby cries, thin, high squalls that tugged at the nurturing part of his brain. He opened his eyes, grinned and sat up. “Time for a snack? I’ve got just the thing for you.” Adam picked Ravi up, held him to one shoulder and rubbed soothing circles into his back. The baby continued to cry. “I know, shhhh, I know you’re hungry. Just gotta warm this up a bit first.” He took a bottle out of the fridge and held it under a stream of warm tap water. The high-tech electric bottle warmer he’d received at the baby shower was still in its box; for some reason he preferred this simple method and the sound of the running water was calming. After a minute he tested the milk on his wrist just like he’d learned to do in class, then he shook the bottle and sat down with Ravi in the living room rocking chair. “Here ya go,” he said, relieved when the cries were replaced by feeding sounds. 

Large eyes gazed up at him, steel gray or dark blue depending on the light and Adam wondered if his face looked blurry to Ravi. Then he remembered the class teacher saying that newborns could see faces more clearly eight to twelve inches away. He bent his head down an inch or so and was rewarded when those beautiful eyes got a little wider. “My light, my sun…my little Ra.” As Ravi continued to drink, Adam recalled the day he and Jacob had finally decided on a boy baby name.

***

“Do we have to pick something symbolic?” asked Jacob. He sighed wearily, tossed aside _1001 Baby Names_ and flopped back on the bed next to Adam. The paper bearing a long list of possible names fluttered with his movement. “We’ve been at this for ages. Can we just go with Charles and be done with it?”

Adam knew Jacob was joking, that Jacob cared deeply about the name they chose, so he laughed and said, “Sure, or how about Bob?”

Jacob snorted. “Perfect.” He turned onto his side and nuzzled into Adam. “You’d think a month would be long enough to pick a name. Jeepers.”

This mild and outdated word brought on the usual giggle from Adam, who could never seem to get over how adorable it sounded. “No kidding, eh?”

Jacob rolled his bright green eyes, thoroughly used to being teased about his Canadian roots. “Are you ever gonna quit that?”

“Nope, you’ll have to put up with it forever.”

“I guess I can handle the suffering,” said Jacob as he nipped at Adam’s jaw. 

“How gracious of you,” Adam said with a purr.

“Right? I’m like the sun just giving you all I got.” Their hands started meandering. The men were just about to get busy when Adam gasped and bolted right out of bed, smacking Jacob hard in the nose with his right elbow as he leapt and shouted, “That’s it! Ravi, the Hindu sun-god!” He flapped his arms and hands like a bird in a hurricane. “It’s perfect, it’s-- Oh fuck, your nose!” Blood was pouring from Jacob’s nose, oozing between his clamped fingers and raining down on their white bedspread. Adam blanched. “Shit, Jake, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean…tilt your head back and...” There was no time to fetch a cloth.

Through the mess of tears and blood, Jacob still managed to smile and coughed out, “We can call him Ra for short, the Egyp…Egypt…”

Adam whipped off his own shirt and held it to Jacob’s nose. “Egyptian sun-god.” He placed a little kiss on his lover’s temple. “You okay, _mon coeur_ ?” He got a nod and a sigh in response to the French term of endearment he’d picked up while visiting Jacob’s family in Quebec. “You are my heart, you know that, right? And we’re gonna be the most kick ass daddies ever and have the best family ever. Jacob, Adam and Ravi…”

***

The little one, his tummy full, blinked sleepily. Adam lifted him to one shoulder and gently patted his back. “We’ll still be the best family ever.” The hole in his heart felt a bit more ragged, sawed at the edges with the bread knife of nostalgia. The bitter-sweetness of his life was almost intolerable at times.

2

Tommy Joe Ratliff did not like routine. He thrived on being unpredictable and enjoyed randomly changing up the order in which he did daily tasks such as showering, plucking his eyebrows and checking to make sure he hadn’t run out of booze. As a child he’d driven his parents absolutely insane. As an adult his impulsivity made him a man magnet. Several flings per week was standard and he had no intention of anything more stable. Commitment was for those who didn’t have pretty boys falling all over them. Commitment was for those who hadn’t witnessed how everything could go to shit in a matter of months. Commitment was meant for stupid people who couldn’t handle life on their own.

At 33, Tommy did feel an occasional twinge of something his mother called the ‘male nesting instinct.’ It’d happened exactly five times and he had five items to prove it, none of which fit into his bachelor lifestyle. He couldn’t make himself return any of the items, however, and attempted to justify their presence in his apartment by misusing them. The first purchase, a food processor, had become a glorified bowl for beer bottle caps in less than a week. It didn’t bother Tommy. He brushed off the twinges with the same ease in which he sidestepped his mother’s pleas for him to be careful.

Needless to say, it’d come as a great shock when one of Tommy’s flings began to tug at his booze-soaked heart. The man’s name was Jacob, and he was without a doubt the most gorgeous creature Tommy had ever seen - blue eyes, a body that just wouldn’t quit and a smile that made him feel simultaneously horny and romantic. He’d given in against his better judgment and two weeks into a tenuous relationship, Jacob had died in a car accident. Tommy mourned for a day and then moved on. He was over it. Commitment was for stupid people.

Incredibly, Tommy had met another man named Jacob only three days later, a man with breath-taking green eyes, but that Jacob wouldn’t give him the time of day. That Jacob was in a committed relationship. Tommy had said, “Your loss, man!” and continued to go out night after night looking for his next piece of ass. 

Another six months passed this way. Slog through a pointless day job, drink and fuck at night. Tell mom everything is fine and yes of course he takes his vitamins every single morning. She doesn’t need to know that his vitamins are Tylenol and coffee. Thank you mom for giving me a wonderful childhood and no I’m not mad at you about the divorce. Talk to you soon. I love you, too.

The truth about Tommy was that he was a bit of a spoiled brat. His life had been mostly carefree, an only child who was doted on from day one. Things went his way for thirty-one years, but no amount of begging could stop his father from leaving his mother. Fucking bastard. Bartender, give me another shot of tequila. 

November 15, 2014

Tommy woke up one Saturday with his usual hangover only to discover that he was out of coffee, which was nothing short of a crisis in his world. Grumbling, he looked around for his phone and found it under his pillow. The bed creaked and groaned as he collapsed onto it. “Sutan. Coffee.”

“Well good morning to you, too, sunshine,” said Sutan on the other line. His tone was light and playful. “Why don’t you make your boytoy go get you some?”

“He’s gone. Come on…coffee,” he said again with a whine.

“I’m sorry honey, but I’m due at work in twenty minutes. You’re on your own. Or you can just lay there and pout all day until I come rescue you.”

Tommy made an indistinct sound, thinking that really, Sutan had enough time to swing by with a cup of coffee before work if he wanted to. “It’s fine. See ya later.” Sutan said goodbye very loudly (on purpose Tommy was sure) and hung up. Clutching his aching head with one hand, Tommy reached to the floor for the Tylenol and a half empty bottle of room temperature water. He popped several pills, gulped a mouthful of water and tried to hide from the morning. It worked for about ten minutes until his body screamed at him for coffee. He thought he could hear his brain cells actually crying. This required action. This required clothing.

With an almighty effort Tommy hauled his naked self out of bed again and stumbled into the bathroom for a piss and a half-hearted attempt at showering. When the stank was gone, he threw on a pair of jeans and a blue hoodie and shuffled down five flights of stairs to the dingy lobby of his apartment building. “Apartments Millennium…what a dumb name,” he mumbled habitually, making sure not to trip over a piece of broken floor tile as he walked to the door.

The cold Manhattan air was almost (but not quite) as good as a strong cup of coffee. Tommy shivered, pulling his fists into his sweatshirt sleeves, and headed to Café Grumpy. This odd little coffee shop was where Tommy had been dumped at the end of his two week-long hitchhike from California. One look at the name – Café Grumpy, for real – and one taste of that snobby, outrageously expensive Ethiopian blend and Tommy’d decided that he needed to live within a block of the place. He’d spent his last California dollars on that cup of coffee and it’d been fucking worth it.

Tommy didn’t care much for the artsy fartsyness of the Chelsea neighborhood, but there was plenty of hot coffee and plenty of hot gays. The manager (not hot, but not old and not hairy) at Apartments Millennium had offered him a month’s free rent in exchange for a fuck, but was startled when Tommy agreed without hesitation. Tommy had laughed and said, “How the hell you think I got to New York?” The building was as seedy as its manager, but the price couldn’t be beat; anything under $1500 for a Chelsea studio was an absolute steal. After the fuck, Manager Joe gave Tommy a set of apartment keys. “You’d better be able to pay next month or you’re out.” He’d looked at Tommy’s worldly possessions, a backpack and a shoebox, with skepticism.

“Don’t worry,” Tommy had said, “by this time next month I’ll have everything sorted out.”

This turned out to be one hundred percent true. In less than a week Tommy was working at a medical debt collections center. His tardiness and random way of getting things done were overlooked because when Tommy did work, he was damn good at his job and made a shitload of money in commissions. He had it all, the apartment, the job, the string of boytoys and the distance he’d needed from his fucking asshole of a dad. To the outside world he was the shit, cool and collected, living high in Manhattan. 

Nobody had to know what was in the shoebox he’d carried with him from L.A. Nobody had to know about the thousands of dollars of debt he secretly erased from the accounts of the elderly once in a while. And nobody had to know that after two years of pissing his life away, Tommy was becoming sick of it all. So much so that after visiting Café Grumpy on that particular Saturday, he walked around the block and right into La Mano Pottery, where he purchased his sixth non-bachelor item. A potted tree.

3

On Ravi’s fifth day of life, Adam discovered the exact purpose of a tiny cone shaped terrycloth hat, which had been mailed to him anonymously along with a card saying ‘Congrats.’ Adam had put the mysterious doll-sized hat aside with the electric bottle warmer and a hideous burnt orange baby blanket.

At eleven in the morning, while cradling Ravi and contemplating the beauty of Jacob’s face grinning at him from behind a piece of framed glass, Adam sniffed the air and immediately recognized that it was diaper changing time. He stood and carried Ravi into the nursery that he and Jacob had designed. A handsome cherrywood crib dominated the scene, complete with moss green bedding. It was a gift from Jacob’s parents, who hadn’t been aware that the young couple planned to use a co-sleeper instead. Still they kept the crib, thinking that Ravi would eventually sleep there, and decorated the rest of the room to match it. 

“Down you go,” Adam murmured as he laid his son on the changing table. Ravi made a grunting sound and kicked his legs. This clearly wasn’t his favorite activity. “Can’t say I blame you, I probably didn’t like it either. But man are you gonna thank me…you’ll feel so much better.” Adam tossed the soiled diaper into the diaper bin and began to clean Ravi with some all-natural baby wipes. “You know, your other daddy yelled at me for a full minute when I told him I thought that regular wipes would be fine.” Jacob had wanted everything that came into contact with their son to be organic. “Alrighty! Look at you all clean,” Adam cooed. He leaned over to kiss Ravi’s forehead and that’s when it happened.

Pee. Little baby Ravi pee streaming from little baby Ravi’s pee-pee, right into Adam’s eye. With a yelp Adam jumped back and out of range. “You peed in my eye!” he exclaimed, sort of laughing as he grabbed an all-natural baby wipe. Ravi just gurgled at him. After de-urinating his eye, Adam began to chuckle. “Dang, I need to be prepared for that next time. I need a…hey! That’s what it’s for!” He put a new diaper on Ravi, folded the front under his umbilical cord stump, and redressed him in a clean organic cotton onesie. “Come on you,” Adam said fondly. A few minutes later, the doll-sized terrycloth hat was situated right next to the baby wipes.

Since returning from the hospital, Adam had spent nearly every waking moment with his son, feeding him, changing his diapers, rocking him, playing with him (Adam had taken a special class on how to play with newborns), walking him around the house in a baby sling and even watching him sleep. Adam’s own sleep was fitful because he kept waking up to make sure Ravi was still breathing. And he hadn’t eaten much except for a few crackers and the meal his mom made him the other day. “You need to eat, honey,” she’d said, “You’re awfully thin.” 

“Look at his hair, mom, I bet it’ll be black like Jacob’s.”

“But Danielle’s hair is brown and yours is--”

“I know that, but Dani’s mom has black hair.”

“Eat, Adam. Let me hold my grandson and go eat.”

The lasagna was excellent but Adam barely tasted it as he watched his mom cuddle Ravi. 

Leila eyed him carefully. “You should get out, go visit Danielle or something.”

“Ravi’s too little to go out, especially this time of year.”

“Actually he isn’t too little as long as you dress him warmly and stay away from crowded public places. But that’s not the point. I can watch him, sweetie. You need a break.”

“No I don’t.”

And that had been the end of that. But today as he sat watching Ravi gaze at a stuffed zebra (black and white patterns were supposed to be fascinating to infants), Adam reconsidered. Maybe he should take Ravi to visit Danielle. Maybe he should return some phone calls. Maybe he should stop ignoring the endless voicemails. “Adam, we really have to start discussing ideas for your third album. It’s been six months since Jacob…well, just call me.” “Adam, could you tweet something to your fans? They’re desperate to know how you’re doing.” “Adam, you should probably address the rumor that Danielle gave birth to twins.” Adam, Adam, Adam. Yeah, maybe he should really get on top of things. _On top. Top. I like the top. Maybe I should get laid._ With that thought Adam’s dick twitched. “Whoa!” He stood up so fast with Ravi in his arms that the zebra went flying. Startled, Ravi began to cry. Adam picked up the toy and began to pace around the living room, gently bouncing his son until the cries receded, but Adam’s thoughts were not so easily soothed. 

_So it moved while he was on my lap. That’s no big deal, right? I’m sure he didn’t feel it and even if he did he doesn’t know what it is and…oh my god why am I even thinking about getting laid? Jacob wouldn’t want me to…_ Adam stopped pacing and ran a hand through his hair. _I’m losing it. I’m seriously losing it._

He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d masturbated. Sometime before Ravi was born, he was certain. He couldn’t do that with his son in the house. Could he? But what if Jacob were still alive? Surely they would’ve continued to have sex after Ravi’s birth, on the couch while the baby was asleep in the bedroom or something like that. So what was wrong with jerking off in the shower? Adam felt his face heat up. It was weird even thinking about such things while holding a baby. Okay so maybe he really did need a break. 

While Ravi napped, Adam called his mother. “And can you bring over the next batch of fan mail, too? I’ll try to get through some of it.”

“Great idea, honey, it’s starting to pile up again and you should see some of the gifts for Ravi…absolutely adorable. And do you want me to…well you know…I’m still sorting them out…”

Adam commanded the tears to stay in his eyes but they didn’t listen, seeming to mock him as they rolled down his pale cheeks. He hadn’t been able to read any of the sympathy cards or letters about Jacob. “Yeah, I mean no, don’t bring them. Thanks, Mom.” 

“Anytime. I’ll be there soon. Let me know if you need help figuring out where to go.”

This was the problem with fame. He considered going to Danielle’s but she was already planning on coming over to visit tomorrow. Besides, all Adam really wanted was to take a walk, but the posh Tribeca neighborhood where he lived in New York was almost worst than L.A. when it came to paparazzi. Still, he couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. He had found and fallen in love with Jacob in New York. His heart was here and he had no intention of moving back to L.A. despite the bone-chilling winters. 

After a good cry, the thousandth cry, Adam slipped into the shower. _I could drive over to Jersey and visit that park. No one recognized me when Jake and I went there._ It was a very nice memory. Holding hands, sneaking behind the bushes to makeout like teenagers, fondling each other. Very nice indeed. Funny how arousal could be such an efficient balm for grief, and when Adam’s fingers wandered south, he didn’t stop them. Forehead pressed to the shower tiles, he stroked himself into a lip-biting orgasm. It’d been a fucking long time.

Thankfully Ravi was still sleeping when Leila arrived, which made it easier for Adam to leave. Even then his mother had to literally push him out the door. “I won’t be gone long,” he said, “just a quick stop in Chelsea...Brooklyn Industries has these really cute onesies...and then a short walk in the park and I’ll be back. His bottles are--”

“Adam.”

“Okay, okay, I’m going.” 

As soon as he got into his Mustang, however, his eyes started to water. What was he doing out here when Ravi was in there? Little Ra was a giant magnet and Adam was a safety pin; the pull was irresistible. _I don’t need a break. Yes, Adam, yes you do. Put the car in gear and drive away. Drive to Chelsea and buy your son some more cute clothes._ Adam scrubbed the tears from his eyes. “I’ll be right back,” he whispered to Ravi.

4

“Fuck! Why the fuck did I buy a fucking tree!?” Sure Tommy was strong, but hauling a tree, even a baby one, down the streets of New York was no easy feat. Staggering under the weight, he could only walk about twenty steps before he had to put the thing down and rest. This was insane, a fool’s errand, but Tommy kept going with the damn tree.

He had just reached the corner of 18th and 8th Avenue when he saw him, that famous singer, Adam Lambert. The guy was coming out of Brooklyn Industries, a designer clothing store. “Damn.” Tommy stared unabashedly, not noticing that his grip on the clay pot was slipping until it was too late.

 


	2. Chapter 2

5

Despite it being a typical New York day, meaning busy and crowded and full of people wrapped up in their own little worlds, the sound of the massive clay pot smashing into concrete made everyone around Tommy pay attention. Everyone including one Adam Lambert, who was, Tommy saw through extra wide eyes, heading right for him.

Feet covered in dirt and chunks of pottery, Tommy swore under his breath. Every cool point he’d ever earned in his life seemed to vanish as he stood there gaping. Do something, he commanded his body, but not a single muscle responded until Adam was about fifteen feet away. Somehow the proximity flipped a switch in Tommy’s brain; he stooped down and began placing the broken pieces into what was left of the pot. “Fuck,” he mumbled, desperately hoping that he hadn’t been already pegged as an idiot. 

“Hey, you alright?”

In an attempt to save face, Tommy grunted and said, “Yeah, just slipped outta my hands is all. No biggie.” He chuckled his best manly chuckle and chanced a look up at the popstar. Adam was wearing a long black wool coat and an enormous gray scarf that wrapped around his shoulders. This was not surprising given the weather, but Tommy hadn’t been ready for his face. The last time Tommy had seen him was on the Ellen Show a year ago; he’d been glowing then, talking about getting married to some guy he met on tour. This Adam face was different; it was no longer round or glowing. Instead there were sharp angles everywhere, severely highlighting his cheekbones and eyes. Adam was pale, too, almost deathly so. To Tommy, he looked like a vampire, the most beautiful creature imaginable. A pottery shard fell from Tommy’s fingers and hit the cement with a sharp clink. _Say something! Anything!_ “Umm, yeah so…ermm.” _Nice one, no really that was great._

Adam’s eyes twinkled with mirth. Surely, thought Tommy, Adam must be used to people reacting to him this way. But Tommy had hoped to be cooler than the average drooling fan. Fuck it all.

Adam held a hand out. “Here, let me--”

“I’m okay, really,” said Tommy, leaping to his feet. But standing didn’t help. In fact, now that he was looking into Adam’s eyes, he felt even more helpless. He dropped his arms to his sides and swayed a little, not knowing what to say that wouldn’t sound dumb. Oddly enough Adam copied him, displaying nothing of the flawless sociability that Tommy had expected. 

To be more precise, Adam looked very awkward and unsure of himself all of a sudden. He cleared his throat and glanced towards the street. “I should probably--”

“Yeah, me t--”

“But I could help you carry--”

“No, that’s okay, you--”

“It’s not a problem, I don’t mind,” said Adam, bending his knees and reaching for the broken pot.

Tommy reached for the pot, too. “You don’t have--”

“I know.”

Their eyes met through the leaves of the baby tree. A few seconds passed this way; they looked ridiculous actually, standing with knees bent and arms outstretched, Adam’s shopping bag swinging slightly from his wrist. But neither man moved. They seemed caught up in the metaphysical _something_ that was unfolding between them.

Finally someone coughed nearby, breaking the spell. Tommy straightened up and shook his head; it felt all cottony and slow in there. He glanced at Adam and saw that he was just as dazed. But gradually a smile formed on both of their faces, then the gorgeous vampire man laughed and said, “Look, this is silly. I’ll just pull my car around. We’ll load up the tree and I’ll drive you home.”

Now this Tommy could definitely get into. Chilling in an expensive car, riding high style with a celebrity; it appealed to his pleasure-seeking nature. Plus there’d be all that time to spend admiring Adam, even if he was married, which looked to be the case since he was wearing a wedding ring. Nothing wrong with appreciating beauty though. “Count me in.”

“Good, good,” said Adam, grinning. “Let me just check the time.” He took his phone out of his pocket and touched the screen. A photo of a stunning man replaced the phone’s black screen. 

“Hey, I know that guy!” Tommy said, pointing at the picture.

Adam stared at him. “What?” 

“Yeah, I met him at The Cock bar a few months back. I was trying to pick him up,” Tommy chuckled, feeling like himself again. “Only one reason to go there, right? To get a fu--”

A fist connected with his cheek. Pain exploded, and then everything went fuzzy.

***

Tommy heard the sound of footsteps running away. He blinked, the fuzziness cleared and he found himself alone on the corner of 18th and 8th Avenue. _He punched me! Adam Lambert punched me! What the fuck?_ Ignoring the stunned expressions of a few passersbys and clutching his face, he left the tree and its broken pot on the sidewalk and made his way home. And because he was pissed and not thinking clearly, he whipped out his phone and tweeted: @AdamLambert IS AN ASS.

“Stupid fucking famous people,” he muttered after shoving his phone back into his pocket. There was something nagging at the back of his brain, something important about his exchange with Adam, but the connection just wasn’t happening; he was too angry to make any sense of it. It wasn’t until Tommy was slumped on his bed with an icepack to his cheek that he started thinking about how amazing Adam had looked. _Even though he punched me. Even though he’s married, probably to that guy on his phone…that guy I tried to pick up…OH SHIT._

Tommy blanched, looking at his phone as if it were a bomb about to go off. “Oh no, no no no please, no…” He dropped the icepack and dived for his phone, already knowing that it was too late. The Internet is forever, and Tommy had heard nightmarish stories about Adam’s devoted fans. Sure enough, the instant he opened his Twitter app he began to wince in virtual pain. Hundreds of replies, and none of them nice, screamed at him:

Adam4Ever @ TommyJoeRatliff: Adam Lambert is the nicest man on the planet!

GLAMITUP @ TommyJoeRatliff: This is because he’s gay ISN’T IT? You just don’t like gay people!

SuckMe @ TommyJoeRatliff: You’re an ass. You obviously don’t know shit!

The last one poked Tommy’s anger into flames.

TommyJoeRatliff @SuckMe: Well he’s the one who punched me, so yeah I do know shit!

SuckMe @ TommyJoeRatliff: OMG what did you do to him? I swear to god if you damaged his beautiful face…

TommyJoeRatliff @ SuckMe: HIS face?! He’s the one who punched ME! I didn’t do anything to him!

“Except for implying that his husband is a cheating slut,” Tommy grumbled, but he wasn’t about to admit that. They’d probably show up at his door with pitchforks if they found out. But what was Adam Lambert’s husband doing at The Cock bar anyway? _Maybe he is a cheater._

SuckMe @ TommyJoeRatliff: Well you must have done something! Adam wouldn’t punch you for no reason!

Tommy considered turning his phone off and just ignoring this whole mess, but the need to defend himself kept him going.

TommyJoeRatliff @ SuckMe: All I did was say something about his husband, but he totally overreacted!

At this, Twitter exploded. Tommy could almost feel the rage directed at him; his phone even felt hot. The majority of responses looked something like this:

‘HOLY SHIT, YOU FUCKER, WHAT DID YOU SAY ABOUT JACOB?’

 _Jacob._ At the thought of this name Tommy felt an unexpected pang in his heart, not for Adam’s Jacob, but for his Jacob, the one man on this earth Tommy had come close to loving. “Forget it. He’s gone, just forget it.” And Tommy did. 

He glanced downed at his phone again.

SuckMe @ TommyJoeRatliff: Adam is still grieving and you probably said something insensitive, didn’t you?

TommyJoeRatliff @ SuckMe: Grieving? Why is he grieving?

SuckMe @ TommyJoeRatliff: DO YOU LIVE UNDER A ROCK?

Tommy frowned. Okay so maybe he didn’t spend a lot of time on Twitter or keep up with every shred of entertainment news, but he didn’t think he was _that_ sheltered.

SuckMe @ TommyJoeRatliff: He’s dead, you idiot! Jacob died of a sudden cardiac arrest six months ago!

“Oh fuck! Fuck me with a chainsaw,” Tommy groaned as he sank down into his pillows. But really, how weird was that? Two Jacobs, and both had died shortly after Tommy met them. The thought made him feel…cursed somehow, like a bad seed that grew rotten fruit. _That’s ridiculous,_ his brain supplied. _I didn’t do anything to anyone, and Adam did overreact. It isn’t my fault that he’s still not over that guy._

Things were never Tommy’s fault. But as he reapplied the icepack to his cheek, the words came back to him: ‘you probably said something insensitive, didn’t you?’ Even worse than that, Adam would never know why his husband was at a pick-up bar, and it would probably haunt him forever. 

Tommy bit his lower lip, shuffled into the kitchen and started in on a six-pack of beer.

6

Left on 19th, left on 9th – stupid one-way streets – another left, and finally an open parking spot on 16th. Crying freely, Adam pulled up next to a playground and put his Mustang in park. He covered his face with his hands, trying to stem the tears. Why had Jacob been at The Cock bar? Adam refused to believe that his husband had been cheating on him. There must be another reason, but what had Jacob been doing there? And why, why did his death still have to hurt so damn much? Shouldn’t there be at least a small modicum of relief by now? Wasn’t six months long enough to dull the pain even a little?

The grief kicked a downward spiral into action. Adam had once been a force to be reckoned with, a confident person who could make men and women come in their pants with just one look. And now? He felt pathetic, powerless and old. The discovery that Jacob might have gone AWOL for a night just made it worse. 

Wiping at his eyes, Adam caught a glimpse of a little boy playing in the park. He was wearing red pants that bunched at his knees as he went down a slide. A man, presumably the boy’s father, was waiting at the end of the slide and caught his son before those small feet ever hit the sand. Adam watched the father and son play together until his emotions drained away, leaving him with nothing but a numb void. After a few minutes, he was startled from the emptiness by a trumpet sound, which he recognized immediately as a text notification from his manager. Regret washed over him before he even finished reading the message.

‘Did something happen today that you need to tell me about? Twitter is buzzing.’

Adam grimaced at his phone feeling certain that this wasn’t going to be good times. He took a deep breath and opened his Twitter app. All too soon he was reading messages that were eerily familiar.

IStanAdam @AdamLambert Are you okay? 

GlamLand @AdamLambert I’m so sorry that happened!

LambertLover @AdamLambert Don’t worry about anything but taking care of yourself, okay?

LuvAdam @AdamLambert I love you, Adam, we all do.

But then he saw the angry tweets.

SuckMe @AdamLambert That Tommy guy is such a douche! I’m glad you punched him!

VampBestie @AdamLambert I hope you hit him hard, Adam! Please tell me you made him suffer!

AdamFTMFW @AdamLambert How dare he insult Jacob! If I ever get my hands on @TommyJoeRatliff, I’ll knock his lights out myself!

“Oh shit,” Adam groaned. There were only two ways this could’ve happened. One: someone on the street witnessed Adam throwing the punch, or two: the pretty blonde – who was apparently named Tommy – had tweeted about it himself. The second possibility was more likely given that the fandom knew Tommy’s Twitter handle and had an incurable habit of checking Adam’s ‘at replies’ every five seconds. Just to be sure, he visited Tommy’s Twitter profile. And there it was: 

TommyJoeRatliff @AdamLambert IS AN ASS.

Feeling a little panicky (the media fallout from this shit was gonna be major), Adam began to scan TommyJoe’s Twitter timeline. The exchange between Tommy and this SuckMe person caught his eye. Tommy seemed like an overgrown child who’d had his pride wounded. _And yeah, he’s also still hot. A jerk, but a sexy jerk._ In fact, Adam had to admit that a tiny part of him was amused at this whole thing, that is until he got to the last tweet:

SuckMe @ TommyJoeRatliff: He’s dead, you idiot! Jacob died of a sudden cardiac arrest six months ago!

Adam’s heart clinched, exactly the way it had on May 5th, 2014, the day that Jacob had dropped dead, his eyes still sparkling gleefully even as he went down. 

“Goddamnit,” Adam whispered. “God…damn it.” With tears rolling down his face, he started typing a message to his fans.

7

It took Tommy three beers to work up the courage to see if Adam had tweeted anything. He squinted at the letters as if this would make their impact less awful, but it didn’t help. This was Adam’s post:

‘Yes, folks, I did lose my temper today. But I'm fine. Thanks for your concern.’

Granted, Tommy was sometimes careless and self-gratifying, but he did happen to be very good at sensing when someone was telling a lie. And Adam was clearly not fine. Clue number one, Adam had punched him out of anger and grief. Clue number two, nobody who is actually feeling fine says, “I’m fine.” Tommy had learned this by watching his mother go through a divorce. Plus he had tons of experience with people drowning in medical debt who said things like, “It’s fine, son, we know you’re just doing your job.” It was never fine.

“Liar,” Tommy muttered. He wasn’t feeling fine either. His cheek hurt and he was still pissed, even more so now that Adam was getting a shitload of sympathy. _I should get some of that, I’m the one who got punched._ But no, all Tommy got was guilt, and damn if it wasn’t doing the ‘Twist and Shout’ inside of him from brain to balls.

He took a long swig of beer, set the bottle on the coffee table and relaxed back onto the couch. He had a nice buzz going, but it wasn’t quite enough to blur the shame. Tommy frowned and eyed the half-empty six-pack. The sun was still high in the sky, but what the hell, four was bound to be the magic number of beers. After several gulps, Tommy sighed loudly as the booze flowed through him, shushing everything down to a muted hum. 

He smiled a bleary smile and reached between his legs as Adam’s face appeared in his mind. Those gorgeous, haunted eyes made Tommy shudder and squeeze his cock through his jeans. He popped the button of his fly and dug in and oh god it felt good, just lazily stroking and pumping and rubbing while imaginary Adam smirked at him. Tommy could see every detail of that face, right down to the barely hidden ginger roots at Adam’s temple. He spit on his hand and wrapped it around his shaft again. Wider and wider Tommy spread his thighs as he worked himself, his brain now playing out a delicious scene of Adam’s mouth stretched around his dick, sucking and swallowing.

Liquored and lubed, Tommy jerked off for another five minutes while the real Adam was coming to a stark revelation.

8

_I hate myself like this._ Being tenderhearted and in love with his son was good. Being sad about Jacob was okay and even normal, but this whole being pathetic thing had to go. As he sat in his car on 16th Avenue, Adam began to mourn the loss of himself, the man he used to be. A rockstar who was also an awesome father, that was the right combination. But Adam hadn’t felt like a rockstar in a very, very long time. Although the media was interested in Ravi, the last time Adam had been in the limelight because of his music was the closing show of his Trespassing Tour. And he hadn’t set foot near a studio in over two years.

But this wasn’t the right time to be recording a new album, thought Adam, not with a newborn to care for. _I have to do something though, something that will help me move on with my life._ Adam looked at his wedding ring, but immediately started protesting his own idea. “No. I’m not ready yet.” _Take it off!_ “No!” _You’re not married anymore, now fucking take it off!_ “No! Jacob wouldn’t--” He stuttered to a halt. Jacob wouldn’t what? Adam paused and closed his eyes, listening to the whooshing sounds of cars driving by. This was ridiculous. He knew full well that Jacob would want him to stop torturing himself. 

That settled it. He was going to do it, right here, right now. No ceremony or ritual; he just needed to get it done. Blood pounding in his ears as if he were about to jump out of a plane, Adam started to wiggle the ring. It didn’t budge. Despite thousands of fanfic stories featuring Adam’s long fingers, the truth was that they were a bit on the pudgy side. But he wasn’t about to give up now that he’d committed to this; he tugged and twisted the band until it finally loosened. One last yank and it was off.

Adam stared at the freed ring, shocked at what he’d just done. He chuckled, but it was more of a sob. “I did it,” he whispered, and then louder with more authority, “I did it!” An odd feeling crept through his heart, a combination of sorrow and pride. The sorrow was different than it had been though, more of an acceptance that Jacob was really dead. “I still love you,” he said softly as he started up the car. On the way home, however, Tommy’s face lingered in his mind.

 


	3. Chapter 3

9

April 30, 2014

Jacob Morin fought his way through the mass of dancing bodies at The Cock bar. He had to work hard at it, because he kept getting groped and propositioned. One guy wearing nothing but a pair of silver shorts even managed to grab Jacob’s crotch as he stumbled toward the back of the bar. This was so not his scene anymore, but a fool in love is a fool indeed, and Jacob was okay with a little unwanted attention if it meant making Adam happy.

After another few minutes of navigating the barely lit, sweat-infused room, he reached an unmarked black door. He knocked loudly and was allowed entrance into a tiny room.

“Jake.”

“Hey, Kevin,” Jacob said to the bar owner. They smiled at each other and shook hands. Jacob had known Kevin ever since moving to New York from Canada in 2008. Somehow during the hours Jacob had spent at The Cock bar pining for the ‘right man,’ the two of them had bonded and become friends. But he hadn’t been here since he’d started dating Adam. “Thanks for letting us use your office.” Jacob gestured toward the other man in the room.

“Any time. It’s good to see you,” said Kevin, smiling. “How long do you two need?”

“Bout ten minutes,” said the other man, and Jacob nodded in agreement.

Kevin winked and left the office, momentarily letting the booming dance beats into the room.

“So, where is it?” Jacob was excited now and started bouncing on his toes.

“Why on earth did you want to meet here?” asked Dillon. His face was drawn down in a frown and he looked distinctly uncomfortable.

Jacob rolled his eyes and sighed. “I already told you, I can’t be seen in your studio and you can’t be seen at our house. Do you have any idea how hard it is to surprise a celebrity like Adam?”

“But we could have met up anywhere! At a park or some random hotel on the other side of town or--”

“There’s no chance you’ll be recognized here.”

“And you don’t think anyone will notice you in this place?”

“Seriously?” Jacob snorted. “There’s one reason to be at this bar and that’s to get a fuck. The only thing people are noticing is my ass.”

Dillon plucked at the shirt he was wearing, which was much tighter than the loose, hippy clothes he usually wore. “But I could’ve sent you pictures by email.”

“I need to see it up close, to make sure it’s right. Now come on, quit whining and show me already!”

Still fussing a little, Dillon picked up a duffle bag and placed it on the office desk. As he unzipped it, however, Jacob witnessed how the man’s demeanor began to shift to something more familiar. By the time the bag was fully open, a focused energy radiated from Dillon. It was this energy that had convinced Jacob to hire him back in March. Dillon was a true artist, and when he reached into the bag to remove his work, he did so tenderly. The piece was fourteen inches tall and very heavy, but it barely made a sound when he set it down.

“Ohhhh,” sighed Jacob. He moved forward, arms outstretched, and looked at Dillon for permission. When he got it, he laid his hands on the gorgeous thing. It was cool to the touch. “How did you…it’s so…wow…” Tears started to form in his eyes; he couldn’t help it. 

“It’s not quite done,” said Dillon softly, “I still need to modify the color and then it needs a final polish.”

Jacob drew in a deep breath, spent a few minutes examining all the fine details and then stepped back. “It’s exquisite.”

Dillon smiled at Jacob. “Meet me here again in a week. Then you can take it and go surprise your man.”

Beaming, Jacob thanked him profusely and left the office. He was halfway across the dance floor when a sexy blond intercepted him. The guy was off the charts hot, but Jacob had no interest in anything but getting home to Adam.

"What's your name, gorgeous? You should come home with me,” the blond murmured into Jacob’s ear.

He laughed at the come on. “It's Jacob, but sorry,” he said, “I’m committed to the most amazing person on this planet.” He thumbed his wedding ring and pushed past the cutie, who called out “Your loss, man!” as Jacob made his way out of the bar.

Jacob had no idea that his heart was on borrowed time, that he would never retrieve Dillon’s masterpiece and would never give it to Adam. The work of art stayed where it was made, its creator uncertain about what to do with it after he learned of Jacob’s passing. Dillon had a very sensitive heart. He didn’t care about getting paid; all he could think of was how badly Adam must be hurting. Surely he should give the man some time to grieve before presenting him with a gift from his dead husband. But how long to wait? Days? Weeks? Months?

10

__**ADAM LAMBERT PACKS A PUNCH**  
by Liz Deluca  
November 16, 2014

_Yesterday afternoon our favorite celebrity, Adam Lambert, gave local Manhattan resident Tommy Joe Ratliff something to remember him by. People Magazine caught up with Tommy via Twitter, and we can exclusively reveal that Adam did indeed punch him in the jaw. “It was my fault,” Tommy explained, “I was thoughtless and said something insensitive about his husband, Jacob. I didn’t know he had passed away until after the fact. But that’s no excuse, I woulda punched me, too.”_

Adam smiled. “Hey, look at this.” He got up from the kitchen table and carried his laptop over to Danielle, who was sitting on the couch holding Ravi. “Read what this guy Tommy said about yesterday.”

Danielle shifted the baby in her arms and craned her head to read the online article. “Huh, well that was decent of him,” she said. “It sounds a lot better than all the crap that was going around the gossip rags last night.”

“It sounds a lot better because it’s the truth,” said Adam. “I shouldn’t have punched him, but still, he was out of line. And don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you wanna scold me,” chuckled Adam, shaking his head at Danielle’s attempt not to appear high-minded.

“Oh, relax, I’m not going to lecture you.” She paused and her mouth turned up into a smirk. “Besides, I’m sure you’ve been scolded plenty by your mom, and by your manager, and by the media and--”

“Cut it out,” said Adam, his tone still playful but tinted with just a touch of warning. “I know, I behaved badly and I have a temper and I’m a terrible example to my son. I fucking know that I--” Adam clapped his hand over his mouth, horrified that he’d cursed in front of Ravi. He leaned over, brought the baby’s fingers to his lips and kissed them. “I’m sorry, my little Ra, your daddy has to learn not to have such a potty mouth.” He felt Danielle’s hand on the back of his neck.

“You’re not a terrible example,” she said soothingly, “you’re in mourning. Tommy touched a nerve and you reacted. I’m not saying it was a great move to make in public, but that doesn’t make you a bad father.” She started playing with Adam’s hair, and it was so comforting that he put the laptop down, repositioned himself and carefully laid his head on her thigh. He wanted to hear more about how he wasn’t a bad father, and after a few moments Danielle continued, as he knew she would. “Ravi is too little to pick up on swear words, Adam, and you know that because you’ve learned more about child development than most people learn about their chosen career.” Adam huffed. “Oh you know what I mean,” said Danielle. “You’ve got this, babe. You’re already an awesome dad.” She leaned down and made Ravi’s hand pat Adam’s head.

Adam allowed himself to grin, which turned into a giggle when he felt Ravi’s fist curl around a few strands of his hair and tug. “Ouch, easy there, tough guy,” he chuckled, looking up into his son’s face.

“Eeeeyahyahyah!” squeaked Ravi, who was staring at Danielle’s bright, dangly earring. 

“Yep, I agree with you,” said Adam to the baby, “I should make a public apology to Tommy. How’d you get so smart? Oh right, you’ve got your momma’s genes." He sat up and stretched, pulled his phone from his pocket and was about to launch Twitter when Danielle suddenly gasped. Adam glanced at her. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she said, “I mean it’s…” She tucked a few strands of hair behind her ear, her expression uncertain and hesitant. “I just noticed that, well, you’re not wearing your wedding ring.”

Adam dropped his chin to his chest. “I know,” he mumbled, “I took it off.” The ring was safely stored in a keepsake box full of old family heirlooms that he rarely opened. He’d needed it to be out of sight so he wouldn’t be tempted to put it back on. Adam willed himself to look into Danielle’s eyes without tearing up. “It was time,” was all he said. In his heart, however, the grief continued to beat. Weakly smiling at Danielle, Adam scooped Ravi into his arms and cuddled him close. _I’ll get over it. Time heals all wounds, right?_ Danielle said nothing, but put her arm around him and squeezed his shoulder.

Deciding that he could use a little bonding time with his son before facing Twitter, Adam asked Danielle to help him give Ravi a sponge bath. She agreed and took the baby for a sightseeing walk around the house while Adam got things ready. In the master bathroom, Adam turned on a little heater he liked to use when he was getting ready in the morning. He couldn’t stand being cold in his own house, especially after a hot shower. Heater warming, Adam went into the nursery to retrieve the things he needed for Ravi’s bath. He put these on the sink in the bathroom, turned on the faucet and adjusted the water temperature until it was just right.

Adam poked his head out into the hallway. “All set!” he called to Danielle. He pulled the stopper on the faucet and added a pump of soap to the running water. After a moment, Danielle appeared at the doorway with Ravi.

“There’s my beautiful boy,” Adam cooed. “Ready to get nice and clean?” While he undressed the infant and swaddled him, Danielle stood back and watched. “Here we go now,” said Adam as he cradled Ravi over the sink with one arm, the baby’s head easily supported by his large hand. He dunked the sponge, squeezed it and began to gently wash Ravi’s scalp. When he was finished he laid Ravi on the blanket, dried his fuzz of dark hair, unwrapped the swaddling cloth and set to work with the sponge. Dunk, squeeze, wash. “First your cute little face, and then your cute little hands, and then your cute little belly.” Ravi started to fuss a bit. “I wonder when the umbilical cord stump will fall off. I think it’s almost healed.” 

When Danielle didn’t respond, Adam looked around at her. She was leaning against the doorway, arms crossed and wearing a small smile. “What?”

“You didn’t need my help,” she said. “You’re already a pro at this.”

Adam shrugged. “I like having you here,” he said as he moved on to Ravi’s legs, which proved difficult to clean since Ravi kept kicking them. “In fact, if you want, you can crash here tonight. We can watch movies and stay up late and take turns feeding the baby.” It was a fabulous idea in Adam’s mind, but when he opened his mouth to continue telling Danielle how great it would be, she came over and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Hon, I can’t. Theo and I have plans.” 

There was pity in her eyes and Adam didn’t like it. “It’s no problem.”

“I’m sorry, I know you’re lonely, but--”

“It’s fine,” he said, trying to grin, “I’m totally fine.”

11

_I will not check Twitter. I will not check Twitter. I will not…_ Tommy was sitting on the couch watching an episode of M*A*S*H and doing everything in his power not to look at his phone. The treacherous thing was in his bedroom in a drawer and turned off. He’d also had to put his laptop away, far away, because ever since yesterday, Tommy had been obsessing.

It all started after he’d apologized to Adam on Twitter and allowed People Magazine to interview him. Apologizing had required him to put his pride aside, but he’d managed it because it was ultimately the right thing to do. But then he’d seen all the Glamberts retweeting his interview and found himself hoping that Adam would notice it and reply. What began as a celebrity crush quickly transformed into infatuation, and he’d ended up spending all of last night and most of today Googling everything Adam Lambert. Worst of all, Tommy had discovered that Adam had a newborn son and somehow that wasn’t a turnoff. 

Approximately one hour ago he’d come to his senses, thanks to a mental slap by none other than his very own brain. _Can’t believe I stayed home on a Saturday night._ Tommy was sure that Sutan hadn’t bought his lie about not feeling well. Needless to say, Tommy was disgusted with himself. He’d let a simple fantasy disrupt his life without batting an eye. It had to stop. After M*A*S*H was over, Tommy was going to go out and get laid. Sundays weren’t as happening as Saturday nights, but he knew the right places to go to find some action.

The laptop taunted him, with all that Adam goodness on it – the pictures he’d saved, the videos and interviews – just waiting to be drooled over, but Tommy resisted. He refused to get attached to anyone. Attachment to people meant pain. Tommy’s mother was the only exception because, well, she was his mother. There was a tiny part of his consciousness that tried to remind him about the mysterious ‘moment’ he and Adam had shared yesterday, but he easily dodged it.

When the show credits started to roll, Tommy got up and prepared for a night of booze and boys. There was only one flaw in his plan. He hadn’t anticipated it (not surprising since he wasn’t in the habit of anticipating things), but there it was staring him right in the face. Tommy never went anywhere without his phone, which left him standing in his bedroom looking into the drawer at the thing. _I don’t really need my phone, do I? Yes, you do. You need it all over the place. You need it to call a cab if necessary, to call for help if there’s an emergency and most importantly, you need it to send pictures of pretty boys to Sutan._ Tommy chewed on his bottom lip. There was nothing for it, the phone had to come with him; he’d just have to be strong. _Stupid Adam and his stupid amazing self._

Blond hair styled to perfection and kissable lips ready to taste, Tommy checked his wallet for condoms. He smiled in satisfaction and quickly grabbed his phone. Tommy actually made it to the door before the first teasing thought slithered in. _Just one more look, just to see if he replied. One look won’t hurt._

AdamLambert @TommyJoeRatliff I’m very sorry. No matter what was said, I shouldn’t have punched you. And thank you for your statement in People Magazine :-)

“Well I’ll be damned.” Tommy plopped down on the couch with a big grin on his face. His thumbs started crafting a response before he could stop them, but half way through he paused, read what he’d written so far, and deleted it. _I sound like a creepy stalker fan._ He frowned in thought for a moment and tried again. “It’s all good,” he said out loud as he pressed the letters on his phone, “I think you mighta knocked some sense into my brain anyway, so thanks for that.” Tommy added a winking smiley to the tweet and sat back to examine the words, imagining how Adam would react when he read them. Satisfied with his wit and charm, Tommy sent the message into Twitterland and waited. But not like a creepy stalker fan. Not at all.

He turned the TV back on, needing a pretense of doing something normal while he refreshed Twitter again and again. Other than M*A*S*H being awesome as usual, nothing happened. When nothing continued to happen, Tommy eventually left the apartment. 

After a week, he stopped checking Twitter for a reply and returned to the familiarity of his life. Behind the scenes, however, he began to slide into behavior that Sutan would come to call ‘passive aggressive moping.’

12

December 13, 2014

Tommy Joe Ratliff was not Adam’s type. Sure he was small and pretty (make that gorgeous), but he wasn’t a ball of sunshine. Tommy didn’t radiate optimism. He didn’t seem to believe the best in people. There was no trace of modern-day hippie mixed into the hard edge of his outlook on life.

After spending a month stalking Tommy’s Twitter, Tumblr and Facebook pages, Adam knew all of these things. And the more he knew, the more fascinated he became with the tiny blond. To be exact, Adam was fascinated by Tommy’s wickedness. The man was a tribute to sin, a booze-soaked whore who posed for profile pictures wearing fuck-me expressions that made Adam’s blood race. Then there were the Halloween photos of Tommy dressed as a vampire; after five minutes of staring at them Adam had been unable to stop himself from jerking off. He’d felt guilty afterwards, as if he’d somehow betrayed Jacob. A ridiculous thought perhaps, one that only those who are still married to grief would understand.

Adam recalled the days when he had been all about the eye-fucking in photos, when he had been the one dressed up as a vampire on Halloween, sucking his way through the necks and cocks of WeHo’s hottest boys. He missed that feeling of recklessness and excitement, a feeling he recognized in Tommy’s eyes. Of course fans loved his big-hearted side, but ever since settling into a long-term relationship with Jacob, the sexy rebel in him had taken a back seat. 

“No more,” he said to his reflection in the mirror one afternoon. It was time to put away guilt and live a little. Jacob would agree, Adam thought as he stared at himself. He liked the determination he saw on his face and added a smoldering gaze for effect. “Nice.” 

After a quick shave, Adam set to work on finding a babysitter. Danielle was out; she and Theo were in San Diego visiting family until Christmas Eve. He tried his mom, sure that she would be thrilled to help, only to discover that she had a date. Adam kept going down the list: The Cherrys and Alisan (who had followed him to New York), and even Carmit, who was in town for the weekend, but no one was available. That left Neil and Adam’s father. Of the two, only one had enough experience with babies to handle the job. 

By the time Eber arrived at ten o’clock, everything was arranged. When he opened the door for his dad, he was treated to a loud gasp of surprise.

“Wow! You look good, I mean…Ads…”

Adam blushed a little and waved his father inside. “I want to be noticed.”

Eber was still in shock. “Well you’ve done a good job, son. You’re really…” He put a hand on Adam’s shoulder, apparently at a loss for words, which was nothing short of a miracle in Adam’s opinion. He thought he even saw the beginnings of tears in those old blue eyes.

“Thanks, dad. I figured it was time to, you know…”

“Yeah.”

Adam cleared his throat. “Now, you sure you’re up for this? I can always stay home.”

This time Eber came up with a ton of words. “Let’s go over my babysitting qualifications, shall we?” he said, and proceeded, much to Adam’s amusement, to list the names of over a dozen nieces, nephews, cousins and children of friends he’d cared for over the decades. “And finally, there’s you and Neil. If I can manage you two, I can manage anything. Now, where’s that adorable little man? Leave him to me and go get your party on.” He shot Adam a smile full of kind reassurance and it hit its mark. Adam smiled back.

Nevertheless, he still felt compelled to offer a brief refresher and went over feeding, changing and even a bit of infant entertainment before Eber started grumbling. Adam sighed resignedly, gave Ravi a final kiss on the nose and left the house. A familiar black sedan was waiting for him out front and he quickly hopped in the back, grateful for the warmth on this cold December night. He didn’t need to tell the driver where to go, so he took the time to settle his nerves as the car navigated the streets of Manhattan.

 _This is a good step. Get out in the public eye again, show that I’m moving on. Because I am. I’m moving on. Time to reclaim myself._ The hurt was still bad, still galloping along at steady pace, but the urge to outdistance it was now too great to ignore. Adam looked in the small lighted mirror and adjusted his tie. It sat sharply against the white collar before blending down into a black leather vest, a vest that hugged his form and led the eye right to his crotch. Adam adjusted that, too. It’d been some time since he’d worn pants this tight. Thin as he was nowadays, he’d still had to lay flat on the bed to zip up the black skinny jeans. And it had taken him a full five minutes to lace his boots, tightening each set of eye loops from ankle to knee on both legs. Adam checked them over, relishing the soft creak of leather as he did so, and re-rolled his crisp shirtsleeves. Adam finished his self-inspection with another look in the mirror. He was too pale, he knew that, but he thought it suited his makeup tonight; a nice contrast to smokey eyes.

In less than thirty minutes, the car was pulling up to the entrance of Fair Play, a new bastion for LGBTQ celebrities and their allies. Since 2011, when same-sex marriage became legal in New York, a whole host of alternative bars had sprung up. These weren’t the dank, shabby clubs of the 90’s either; they were inviting, classy and shame-free. Fair Play was the crowning glory, shouting its message to the rest of the world: it’s cool to be yourself. Adam hadn’t been to the club in a long time, but he and Jacob had enjoyed numerous visits during their short marriage. Naturally the paparazzi were camped out front on an almost permanent basis, but given that security was as tight as a virgin’s ass, they had no idea what really went on inside. Of course, they nearly shit themselves when Adam, who’d been a recluse for seven straight months, stepped out of the car.

The quick press of the photographers and their whoops of surprise momentarily caught Adam off guard. His smile slipped, but as he watched them grab their cameras and jockey for position, he started to laugh at how absurd they looked. Questions fired at him from all directions, asking him about his ‘fight’ with Tommy, wondering when his third album would be out and when Ravi would be shown in public. Adam was pleased to see that they had enough tact to stay away from any topic directly related to Jacob. He answered nothing, opting for a series of friendly waves before heading into Fair Play.

At once he was besieged by friends and acquaintances from the entertainment industry. There were plenty of straights here and Adam didn’t begrudge them; this bar was built to be inclusive. He knew where to go for the gay-only clubs if necessary. Adam did his best to greet everyone politely, but Kesha was the first to corner him with a fierce hug. “Adam! Oh my god, I’ve missed you!” After squeezing the air from his lungs, she stepped back and looked at him. Adam knew exactly what she was going to say next and he wished like hell she wouldn’t. Her eyes went sad. “Adam…I’m so…” She must’ve seen his face, the way pain seemed to unfold on his features. “I’m so thrilled that you’re here,” she said, smiling again.

Adam hugged her, taking a deep breath before pulling away. “Thanks, doll, I’ve missed you, too.” He was suddenly desperate to skip this room and the next one – where people could cozy up on lush furniture, chat intimately and sip their drinks – and make a beeline for the dark anonymity of the third room. All these people with their sympathy and their unspoken condolences dripping from trying-too-hard smiles.

He knew his friends meant well, but he didn’t want to spend the whole night remembering Jacob every time someone looked at him sympathetically. He needed release; he needed to get away, to be mindless, not reminded, for just a little while. Making his excuses, Adam began his escape from the lights, from the casual seating areas, from the people who wanted to comfort and console him. He didn’t want that tonight. He wanted, no, he needed, something raw. Something real.

Room number three beckoned to him, its heavy dance beats reaching inside to take center stage. The only light came from the bar on the side and once Adam had downed two shots of vodka, he followed the glow until it disappeared in the middle of the dance floor. He could be anyone here. He could be dancing among a group of everyday New Yorkers. It just didn’t matter. What mattered was the unknown hand snaking around his hips, dipping down for a few strokes before taking its leave. After two more vodkas, Adam did some stroking, too. His radar was programmed to seek out the tiny boys and somehow he found them in the near dark, pulled them against his body, fondled, nuzzled, stumbled back to the bar for a fifth shot – rinse and repeat. It felt so good not to care about anything, not to worry, not to grieve. Adam let himself get stupidly drunk and it was glorious. 

He sloshed around, falling into the pretty until a pair of slender hands pushed him toward a wall and held him there. All he could see was a blurry silhouette of light hair, which grew hazier as it came towards him. The silhouette lifted up, and then there was a tongue in his mouth. Growling instinctively, Adam sucked on the sweetness while swiftly manhandling the tongue’s owner into a corner. His cock hardened; trapped by the tight jeans it strained obscenely against the zipper as Adam molested the perfect mouth, licked into it over and over. His knee found its way in between a pair of thighs and pressed, spreading them open. The man offered no resistance. “Good, that’s good,” Adam murmured. He felt an unmistakable _give_ – that leaning in, that melting into his dominance – and took what he wanted. Like a beast marking his prey, he latched onto the pale neck and bit into it, sinking his teeth, licking the skin between them and sucking until he heard a whimper. The sound made him even harder. 

Half carrying, half dragging his prize, Adam stumbled further into the depths of Fair Play and they ended up in a dark, deserted hallway. He was all hands and mouth, pawing and groping and kissing hungrily. The pretty prize kissed him back with unexpected force, even managing to pin Adam’s hands and grind against him while they made out. Surprised but pleased, Adam met the challenge easily. He was taller, heavier and hornier than he’d been in a fucking long time. Excited by the man’s boldness, he spun him around, flattened him to the wall and hissed into his ear, “Keep trying.” 

“Bitch.”

Adam smirked and laughed sloppily as he tried to unzip his fly. He fumbled at it several times but eventually had to release the man in order to concentrate. Steadier fingers came to his aid, went beyond unzipping, pulled out his cock and started to stroke it. “Oh fuck,” Adam moaned. He rested his palms on the wall, one on each side of the dark silhouette, dropped his head and bucked into the man’s fist. “Fuuuuuuck.” Ten more seconds of this and he’d be a goner. Adam fought the longing to come all over that small hand; it just wasn’t enough. He gritted his teeth and pushed the fingers away. “Turn around. Now.”

There was no argument. Adam waited, swaying a little, as the man shoved his pants down and presented his ass. Within seconds, Adam was lining up. In his soaked stupor and raging need, he would’ve done it bareback had the stranger not shoved a condom into his hands.

13

The stretch was sublime in its agony. He was far from a virgin, but Adam was enormous. _I knew he would be._ Prickles of pain shot through his body, bounced against every nerve ending. He relished the sensations, bore down and rocked back onto that thick cock. Fire continued to blaze as the powerful thrusts began, pushing deeper with each stroke. Spit slicked the way, spattered his ass and trickled down to his hole. He growled, clawed the wall, rode it out until he swore he could taste precum and then…pleasure bloomed. He dove in, let it devour him, got lost in the bliss. He owned it, shifting and pulling Adam’s hips into him at the perfect angle, half-laughing, half-moaning at how that made Adam fuck him harder and faster. Grunting, he reached for his dick.

14

Fuck. The word was fuck, and it burst from Adam’s lips at least a half a dozen times as he sped towards orgasm. The promise of release was everything to him now. If fifteen journalists were standing there watching him fuck, he would still have given it his all to come like a motherfucker. He was unstoppable, a hip-snapping, cock-driving machine with iron fingers, pushing and pulling, digging into the flesh that would show such pretty bruises in the morning. His head fell back; for an instant he opened his eyes and saw a swirl of bright colors amidst the black. Then the end was upon him. He gasped, shuddered violently, thrust his hips a few more times for maximum sensation…the world swayed…he heard, as if from a great distance, a muted cry of pleasure…and then he knew no more.

***

The sun and clouds were playing hide and seek outside. Adam woke up and blinked a few times. His eyes immediately started to tear up from the god-awful pain in his head, but that was nothing compared to the shock of finding himself in a stranger’s bed. Sniffling and trying desperately not to throw up, he carefully craned his head to see who he was spooning. Even through his blurred vision, there was no mistaking that blonde hair and slightly upturned nose.

_Fuck._

 


	4. Chapter 4

15

There was a smirk on Tommy’s face as he slept, and the instant he awoke to the sound of Adam’s shocked voice, his smirk grew wider.

“Fuck!” Adam barked again.

“Well good morning, sailor.” Still grinning, Tommy rolled onto his right side to get a better look at that gorgeous face. A face belonging to a knock-out celebrity he had conquered last night.

Adam scowled at him, but the effect was ruined by a heavy wince. He sat up, groaned and put his hands to his head. 

“Got just what you need,” said Tommy, who was no stranger to waking up with a headache. He hadn’t had enough booze for a hangover though, so when he reached down to the floor and found that the pill bottle was almost empty, he wasn’t worried. After last night, Adam could have whatever the fuck he wanted. With movement came soreness, and Tommy relished the reminder of Adam’s enormous cock inside him. He wanted it again.

He’d need to be quick, before Adam came to his senses. Tommy handed him the bottle, watched him dry swallow a couple of Tylenol and made his move. “You’re hot in the morning,” he said as he crawled into Adam’s personal space, “hot and hard.” 

“I am not.”

Tommy slipped a hand under the sheets. Adam was only half-hard, but with one feather light touch… “Liar,” Tommy hissed. He took hold of Adam’s rigid length and began to stroke.

“Stop…ss-stop…we need to…oh…oh god…” 

_I win._

“Talk,” said Adam. “We need to talk about this.”

Tommy sped up. “Talking is for pussies.”

“You…took advantage. Last night, right now…taking…”

“Bullshit,” said Tommy, almost laughing. “You could’ve stopped yourself, stopped me, if you really wanted to. Still can.” He straddled Adam’s lap and began working his cock with a two-handed method that never failed. 

“Fuck you,” Adam rasped, but he licked his lips as if asking for more. His eyes were hungry. Tommy paused and looked at him seriously for a moment, just to be sure. Adam met his gaze. The air around them crackled with heat, like lightning bolts snaking across a baked desert sky.

“That’s what I thought,” said Tommy, but it came out in a harsh whisper. He felt winded by the intensity of the energy zapping between them. As he tried to clear his head, he spit on his hands and put them back to work, twisting them in opposite directions, then up and over the head, down again, a few hard pumps, then twisting again.

Adam closed his eyes and began to pant. “Whore…stalker…”

“I’ll give you the first, but I’m not a fucking stalker. Had no idea you’d be there.” This was entirely true. When he’d seen Adam slopping around the dance floor, it was like the god of karma had inexplicably given him a giant high-five. Tommy leaned forward and put his lips to Adam’s ear. “Just my lucky night I guess,” he murmured, reaching for a condom on the small bedside table. He sat back, put the packet in his mouth and kept stroking, waiting.

“Then how did you…” Adam moaned long and loud and bucked his hips. 

_Almost there. Just a few more seconds and he’ll be mine._ But Tommy wasn’t taking any chances. He palmed the condom, opened his mouth and circled it around the tip of Adam’s dick. That did it. He was on his back so fast that he barely had time to gloat, and Adam was there, on top of him, around him, everywhere, breathing heavily and staring down at him.

“How the fuck did you get into the club?”

Tommy just smiled slyly, using the time to tear open the condom packet and roll it onto that pulsing shaft, wrapping his legs around Adam and pulling him in, luring him in.

“Slut,” said Adam as he grasped his cock and touched it to Tommy’s hole.

“Then treat me like one,” Tommy challenged, bracing himself for the onslaught. He wasn’t disappointed. Fifteen minutes later, he was on his knees and elbows, his face buried so far into the pillow that he could barely breathe, and every thrust stole a few more sips of air from his lungs. A new form of breath play. Tommy was high on it, high on his triumphant seduction of Adam. The pillow absorbed his grunts as Adam fucked him into the bed, crushing him. He loved the weight, the feel of Adam’s fingertips pressing into his flesh and the sense of being full to the brim. Oh god the fullness! All of that combined with staccato bursts of pleasure was enough to make him give into Adam completely. He was no longer in control and he didn’t care. He’d won, and he’d be feeling the prize for days afterward.

16

Adam was high, too. This wasn’t the high of an addict or even a former addict giving in to temptation; it wasn’t a pleasure high either. It was the high of a man reclaiming some lost part of himself, a passionate, dominant part that had been lurking just beneath the surface ever since he’d laid eyes on Tommy. Adam wasn’t conscious of this, of course, not while he was doing his best to break Tommy in half; he only felt an insatiable need to continue pounding like an animal. Plus he couldn’t seem to get over the softness of Tommy’s skin. It was cashmere, a pale blend perfectly suited for marking, for owning. After a while taking Tommy from behind wasn’t enough, and Adam pried him up from the bed. _Need more…more._ He heard a loud, shuddering breath as he hauled Tommy back onto his lap, wrapped both arms around Tommy’s chest and used him like a masturbation toy. His knees and toes dug into the mattress, sweat pooled at the base of his spine and his muscles began to burn. The sounds of sex mingled; skin slapping skin, Adam’s labored breathing and a stream of mumbled words dribbling from Tommy’s mouth.

“Won…won…I won…take it…so good…take me…take…mine…”

None of it registered in Adam’s brain. In fact, nothing at all was functioning in there except for the reptilian part, that primitive dictator telling him to fuck and fuck and fuck. Adam jacked himself with Tommy’s lithe body for another five minutes before the pleasure started to break. His rhythm faltered, he yelled as his orgasm erupted, but suddenly everything gave out. His shout was cut off. He fell forward, smothered Tommy with dead weight and came hard.

17

Tommy allowed Adam to have control for about a minute after the end, because he somehow seemed to know that Adam needed it on a primal level (and also because Tommy couldn’t really move). He waited, flattened, out of breath and used up, which was okay…for now. Adam’s hot breath tickled the back of his neck. A ghost of a feeling also tickled him; it felt like contentment, or maybe surrender. “Hey! Up! Get up, I can’t breathe,” Tommy suddenly yelped, and even though it came out muffled, Adam heard him and responded immediately.

“Sorry, Jake.” Adam pulled out (something that Tommy couldn’t help but regret), sat up and leaned against the wall. Then his eyes went wide, and Tommy sighed, already exasperated. _Oh god, here we go._

It took Adam less than a second to reach full freak out. “Jake? Ravi! Oh my god, what the fuck am I doing!? Shit! Shit! Shit!” He launched from the bed, jumped right over Tommy and onto the floor a good five feet away. “Where are my clothes, my boots, my--” Adam stared at Tommy. “How the fuck did you get me here? What happened? Did anyone see us? How--”

“Would you just relax,” said Tommy as he slowly sat up, wondering when he’d be able to walk again.

“Relax! You don’t--”

“Calm down. No one saw us. I’m not that big of an ass. You passed out and I got us a cab in the back alley. You’re fine. I’m sure your kid is fine, too.”

“You don’t understand!” Adam dropped the used condom and started racing around the room, picking up a sock, a belt, a sexy pair of black underwear.

Tommy rolled his eyes. “Well he’s safe, isn’t he? Isn’t that the most important thing?”

“Of course he’s safe, my dad wouldn’t leave him,” said Adam as he attempted to yank his pants on. It looked like hard work.

“Then quit with the drama and chill the fuck out. You’re overreacting.” This is why Tommy never got involved, why he preferred not to know anything about who he was fucking. He hated this. All…this. _Why didn’t I just let it be a fantasy? Stupid._ He considered standing up but abandoned that plan almost immediately. _Well you did tell him to treat you like a slut, and he fucking delivered, didn’t he?_ Tommy half smiled, wishing that freak-out-Adam would hurry up and leave so he could get back to the fantasy.

“I’m not overreacting,” Adam spat. “You’d know that if you cared about anyone besides yourself.”

Tommy shrugged, unhurt. He made a point not to talk anymore, it would just delay Adam’s leaving. Instead Tommy just watched the man and tried not to notice how pretty he was, even in this state. _Jerkoff material, that’s all._

When Adam was put together, he headed toward the door.

“Wait!”

Adam looked around sharply. “What?”

Tommy didn’t know he’d said that out loud; he was stunned that his brain had even formed the word. “Nothing. I…nothing. See ya around.” He closed his eyes, then began silently cursing when he heard Adam’s footsteps getting nearer.

“What, Tommy?” Adam’s voice was still harsh, but with a trace of something softer that Tommy couldn’t identify.

 _Don’t open your eyes. Don’t do it. Don’t. Just ignore him and it’ll all be over._ He sat there, praying to a god he didn’t believe in. _Make him go away, please._ But god betrayed him, and so did his eyes. They opened against his will and fucking betrayed him. Adam was right there, a mere two feet from the bed, looking at him.

Adam smirked at Tommy and said, “That’s what I thought.” Then he left.

Tommy hated him. He hated Adam so much that he didn’t get drunk in an attempt to drown his feelings, just to prove to himself that he didn’t need to, because he had no feelings towards Adam. Except hatred.

18

There were a small number of people that Adam trusted without reservation, and his driver was one of them. When he saw the car pull up at the end of the zigzagging path he had made through Tommy’s neighborhood, he breathed a small sigh of relief. Once he was safe behind those tinted windows, he could return to the tirade of self-criticism. Until then he needed to concentrate on not being seen, because unlike the ones he’d taken in the past, this walk of shame wasn’t even close to amusing. A single, widowed gay celebrity, who was a new father and had recently punched a civilian, seen darting through Chelsea looking disheveled… Adam cringed just thinking about it. When he neared the car, the back door opened automatically and he slid in, shivering with cold and weariness.

“Good morning.”

“Is it still morning, Chuck?” Adam asked as he pulled his phone out of his pocket. Chuck didn’t like to be called by his given name, Charles, because he thought it sounded too cliché for a chauffeur.

“Technically. It’s eleven-thirty.”

Adam groaned and pushed a button on his phone. “Send a message to my dad.”

A cool male voice with an English accent spoke back to him. “What should the message say?”

“That I’m on my way home.”

After a few seconds, the male voice responded, “Message sent.”

Adam put the phone away, lay down on the back seat and curled up the best he could in his tight pants. He was at a loss; too many thoughts and feelings were playing hockey with his brain. _Am I a bad father? Would Jacob hate me for being so reckless? Would he hate me for what I did with Tommy?_ Tommy. Adam wondered if he’d ever see the man again. He hadn’t forgotten what he’d seen in those beautiful eyes. _Like that matters. Jesus, one night of letting your dick run free and you can’t focus on what’s most important!_

“Adam?”

“Yeah?”

“You want some hot chocolate?”

Despite his mood, Adam smiled. He sat up and told Chuck that he absolutely wanted some. Chuck picked up a blue thermos and a mug from the passenger seat and handed them back to Adam. This had become something of a ritual between them, especially when Adam was feeling down. Chuck made the hot chocolate from scratch. It was delicious, and he almost always had that blue thermos in the car, just in case, ever since Jacob died. Having lost his wife to cancer several years ago, he knew grief, and although he and Adam rarely talked beyond arranging transportation, the two shared a connection. Chuck had also known Jacob since the beginning, had driven the young couple all over the city during their courtship, and had even brought them to the airport after their wedding. He’d wished them a happy honeymoon and asked Adam to bring him back a souvenir from Paris. The solid gold Eiffel Tower keychain still hung from his key ring.

“God this is good,” said Adam after taking a sip. “Thanks.” Adam had once asked for the recipe, but Chuck had refused, saying that it’d been his wife’s and he wasn’t about to give it away. Adam understood that only too well. 

“You bet. Seemed like you might need some warming up.”

Adam nodded and took another sip. He felt calmer now, still lost, but a little less panicky. _Ravi is safe, I know that._ And again Tommy’s words came back to taunt him. “You’re overreacting.” _Little blond bastard, selfish prick, telling me to chill out. Like he knows anything about anything except fucking._ At that thought, Adam’s brain replayed the morning in Tommy’s bed. He’d been an animal. Tommy seduced him, true, but he’d allowed it…and wanted it. Adam hated him…and lusted him. Plus there were those strange moments of connection, the first time they’d met and then again when he’d looked into Tommy’s eyes before storming off this morning.

Adam shook his head. Tommy was a sex-obsessed narcissist, nothing more. “Bastard,” he mumbled into his mug of cocoa. “Hate him.”

***

The instant he walked into the house Adam made a beeline for Ravi, who was laying belly up on a blanket on the floor, sucking his fingers. Adam dropped down next to him, stretched out, and put his face close to his son’s. “Hey my beautiful boy,” he whispered. 

“You’re gonna get him drunk by proximity,” said Eber from the couch. “You reek of alcohol.”

Adam ignored him. Yes he stank, he knew that, but he wasn’t about to get up until he’d reconnected with Ravi. “I love you, little one. I’m so sorry I was gone for so long. It won’t happen again.” The baby’s eyes crossed slightly as if trying to focus on Adam’s face.

Eber scoffed. “Of course it’ll happen again. You can’t stay attached to his side every minute.”

Adam peered around at his dad. The man looked unruffled, as if they’d planned this all along. “You knew I’d be out all night?”

“Well duh. I am your father after all,” said Eber, “I think I know my own son.” He stretched his arms above his head and yawned. “Can’t say I’m impressed that you didn’t call last night, but I’m glad you were careful enough to stay out of the headlines.”

Adam didn’t like the nonchalance. He was still mad at himself, and mad at Tommy, too. He wanted a fight. “Well excuse me for--”

“Adam.” Eber leaned forward, looking serious. “You’ve been cooped up in this house for ages, you’ve been _on_ one hundred percent since Ravi was born and you’re lonely. So you let loose for a night. Stop kicking yourself.”

 _Why does he have to know me so well? Why couldn’t he have shouted at me?_ His faux defensiveness crumbled instantly and he bit his lip so that it wouldn’t tremble. “I’m really sorry…for not calling and…”

“It’s fine, son. You’re under a lot of pressure.” That old face was so warm and so understanding that Adam couldn’t take it anymore. He got up, went into the hallway bathroom and shut the door so he could cry in peace. He hated Tommy even more, and later that night when he was alone in the living room and all was quiet, he cursed Tommy’s name as he jerked off to the memories of their time together.

19

December 22, 2014

By noon on the Monday of Christmas week, Tommy was also looking for a fight. That morning he’d been fired. Somehow his boss found out that he was forgiving debts without permission and that had been that. Tommy’d made a big stink in front of the whole department, yelling about how a losing few thousand dollars from an elderly woman with cancer wasn’t going to bankrupt the company, calling his boss a heartless prick as he stormed off through the sea of cubicles. He blamed Adam. It was Adam’s fault that he’d grown careless at work and hadn’t been covering his tracks well enough, Adam’s fault for being a mental distraction. And it was Adam’s fault that Tommy ended up in jail that night.

There was a man in the cell across the way who was tall, had black hair and was dressed in black leather. The man had been minding his own business when Tommy, completely wasted, mistook him for Adam and assaulted him on the streets of Manhattan. Locked in a small holding cell at the Metropolitan Correctional Center, Tommy staggered around for a while, yelling at ‘Adam.’ 

“My life was great ‘fore I met you!” he hollered. “Evr’ything was fine till you came ‘long!”

“For the last time, I don’t know you! Now shut the fuck up already, you little snot!”

But Tommy kept right on. “I’s happy…livin’ high and then you ruined it! You…you…fuckin’ ruiner!” He grabbed hold of the cell bars and squished his face into them. “Ruiner!”

“For the love of god!” barked not-Adam, “will someone please make him be quiet?”

One of the officers ambled over, shaking his head, his lips twisted into a wry grin. “There’s no sense talking to a shit-faced drunk. Here.” He tossed the man a pair of earplugs. “Don’t worry, you’ll be out of here before morning.”

The bars felt cool on Tommy’s hot skin; he rolled his cheeks across them as he geared up for another round of verbal assaults. Objects at the edge of his vision were blurry, almost dancing it seemed. The officer’s ass looked like it was about to detach and swirl away on its own. Tommy laughed loudly, that raw, obnoxious laugh of the truly hammered. Then he caught sight of ‘Adam’ again, frowned, and began hurling more insults at him. “Wors’n my dumb dad! ‘Least he didn’ get me fired! ‘Least he leaves me alone! He jus cares about his fuckin’ fuck whore…goddamn cheater!” Tommy clenched the bars in a death grip, opened his mouth and screamed at the top of his lungs, “CHEATER!!”

That last did him in. He crumpled to the cement floor and wept. It went on for a long time, first loud and plaintive, then gradually transforming into the weeping of an overtired two year old. At last Tommy was silent, staring and curled up in a ball. He felt numb, and lived in the numbness until sobriety finally took over. He sat up, realized at once that the guy he’d attacked was not Adam, and didn’t fucking care. 

In the wee hours of the morning an officer came to talk to him. “Your bail has been set at two thousand dollars.”

Tommy gasped. “But that guy provoked me!” he protested, pointing across the way. He wished he hadn’t yelled; someone somewhere had a Tommy voodoo doll and was pushing pins into its head.

“Uh huh,” said the officer. “And yet he’s the one with the black eye, a bloody nose and a fat lip.” The officer shook his keys out and opened the black-haired man’s cell door. “You’re free to go, son. See that you take care of those cuts.” The guy grunted, said, “fuck you” to Tommy and was led out of the station.

Tommy hung his head. He only knew two people who would have that kind of cash on hand, and only one he was willing to ask. “Can I have my phone calls now?” he mumbled. 

When Sutan showed up, he was miffed. He stood outside Tommy’s cell, hands on hips and glowering. “I thought you were smarter than this. What the hell happened?”

And Tommy told him, all about how he’d been fired, how he’d gone out and knocked back about fifteen shots, how he’d attacked some guy who looked like Adam. By the end of the story, Sutan’s expression had turned into one of sympathy.

“Oh honey, this is worse than I thought. I figured it was just a crush, but…you got it bad.”

“What! No, I don’t! I hate him…I--”

But Sutan wasn’t having it. “Look at me.”

And Tommy did, he looked at the only person he trusted in this world besides his mother.

“I am not,” said Sutan, emphasizing every word, “bailing you out until you admit it.”

Tommy rested his forehead against the bars and sighed in resignation. “Fine. I admit it.”

“Admit what? Let me hear you say it.”

Tommy grimaced, even at the end still clinging to his belief that romantic feelings were dangerous things that should be avoided at all costs. He’d rather go toe to toe with a rattlesnake than say what Sutan wanted him to say. But there was no use in fighting it anymore. “That I…that I have more than a crush on Adam, that I…really like him.”

Sutan smiled, seeming satisfied. “There, was that so bad?”

“Yes.” Tommy felt broken, defeated. He didn’t know how he was supposed to put himself back together again. “Humpty Dumpty,” he muttered.

“Hmm?”

“Nothing. Now will you please get me out of here?”

20

December 23, 2014

Two days before Christmas, Adam was preparing his house, and himself, for ‘the big party,’ as everyone kept calling it. Committed to his plan to move on with his life, he’d agreed to host Christmas this year. It would be family and close friends only, but that still added up to a lot of people. Christmas had never been a big deal for Adam or his family, but it was the perfect excuse to get together and show everyone that he was doing just fine, thank you very much. This wasn’t exactly a lie; it was more…stretching the truth.

For all intents and purposes, Adam was doing just fine. In the last week he’d contacted his management to discuss getting back into the studio, he’d written and mailed an actual letter to Jacob’s parents, and he’d even gone out a few more times, though not to Fair Play (since he still didn’t know how Tommy’d gotten into the club, he wasn’t willing to risk it). Yes, to the outside observer, Adam was all right. Only a bonafide psychic would know that his insides were crawling with loneliness.

As he draped tinsel and hung prisms in the windows, as he sorted through Ravi’s cutest outfits, as he accepted delivery of festive new table linens, Adam repeated the words in his head: _Not Tommy. Not Tommy. Not Tommy._

 


	5. Chapter 5

21

December 25, 2014

“We could have a movie fest and watch John Wayne movies?”

“No.”

“Okay, what about a M*A*S*H marathon?”

“No.”

“A trip to G Lounge? That always cheers you up.”

“No.”

“Well for shit’s sake, Tommy! I don’t know then. I’m fresh out of – hey! How ‘bout I get you into Fair Play again?”

“No.”

Sutan’s groan of exasperation seemed to go on for a long time. “That’s it, then. There’s nothing more I can do. You don’t wanna talk about it, you won’t listen to my advice, you don’t wanna do anything, go anywhere…I’m done,” Sutan said with a snap of his fingers above his head. “I’m going back to my fabulous Christmas party. And you,” he said as he stood up, “you might as well go to the Cock bar and find another pathetic boy to fuck and the two of you can wallow in your misery without disturbing the rest of us!”

Tommy watched Sutan fasten his heel straps, reapply his dark purple lipstick and tug on his leopard print coat. He felt nothing, said nothing, and did nothing as his best friend walked out the door and left him alone.

An hour passed, then two, and Tommy didn’t move from the couch. Movement might trigger thoughts, or worse, feelings. Being a zombie was much, much safer. He was content to lay here in Humpty Dumpty pieces, cold and white and broken. In the very back of his subconscious, in a lockbox of denial and fear, the chaos continued to rage. All the anger towards his father, the conflicting feelings about Adam, the doubt, the old grief over losing Jacob – Tommy heard none of it.

Fuck Adam. Fuck fathers. Fuck Jacob. Fuck Sutan. Fuck booze. Fuck work. Fuck rent. Fuck bills. Fuck fucking. I’ll take eggshell pieces for five hundred dollars, Alex. Yes, thank you, and fuck you, too. 

Christmas Day waxed into Christmas Night. Tommy slept restlessly and woke up to the smell of urine. He wrinkled his nose in disgust, wondering why his bladder hadn’t alerted him. He supposed being disconnected from everything, even his own body, had its consequences. But wetting the couch was enough motivation to finally get off of it and into the shower. While standing under the water, however, he felt his mind wake up, and immediately forced it to latch onto the least threatening image it could find: Sutan’s leopard print coat. As a makeup artist to celebrities, Sutan always tried to look stunning, and in Tommy’s opinion he always succeeded. Whether clothed in a dress or funky pants, heels or high-top sneakers – the man was hot as fuck. Tommy remembered hitting on him the first night they met, and how Sutan had laughed and told Tommy he wasn’t his type. “But I bet you’d be a great wingman. See that redhead over there?” 

When the gorgeous gay ghost of Christmas Past stopped speaking, the gorgeous gay ghost of Christmas Present started up with, “You might as well go to the Cock bar and find another pathetic boy to fuck.” The words bounced around in Tommy’s brain until they hit something substantial.

“The Cock bar! That’s it!” 

Tommy finished showering in a hurry, got dressed and ran out the door. He was on a mission.

22

The hit of Adam’s Christmas party was, of course, Ravi. And who could blame anyone for wanting to hold him? Dressed in a green onesie with the words “Daddy’s Little Elf” in red on the front and a pair of green pointed booties, the six-week old baby looked absolutely adorable. But Adam had strict policies. He’d pre-screened everyone to make sure they weren’t sick, and mandated that all attendees wash their hands before holding his son. It was flu season after all.

Ravi’s brain tried to keep up with all the new sights, sounds and smells, but he preferred the familiar scent of the one with the soothing voice. He felt safe in those arms, and made little noises of contentment when they came to his rescue.

“Okay, okay, I think that’s enough for a while,” said Adam to his guests. “I’m going to put him down for a nap.” He let his mother sneak one more kiss to Ravi’s cheek before heading into the bedroom. There he sat on the edge of the bed and rocked Ravi for a few minutes, murmuring soft words and nonsense sounds until the baby fell asleep. Adam looked at him, so small and vulnerable. There were times he also felt like a baby in this world, and wished someone would just tell him what to do. 

Adam desperately wanted to move on with his life, but pursuing Tommy seemed beyond foolish. Tommy was immature and selfish, and there was no way Adam would let him anywhere near Ravi. But the dreams he kept having – the raunchy, hedonistic dreams – and the constant _wanting_ made Tommy impossible to ignore. Adam sighed and put Ravi into the co-sleeper. As he moved toward the door, a bright blue idea burst into his black and white thinking; he stopped to consider it. What if he could have his cake and eat it, too? _We could just fuck around, nothing serious, no relationship crap…just a few hookups to get it out of my system._

Adam was instantly excited by the idea, his mind already planning secret forays with Tommy where they could fuck like bunnies and then walk away from each other. No complications, no drama and no attachment. _If Tommy can do it, then so can I._ The irony was not lost on him, but he didn’t care, and neither did his cock. He had to take a few steadying breaths to settle it down before rejoining the party.

With that decided, Adam walked into the kitchen to check on dinner preparations. He’d hired Trés LA catering company, but couldn’t resist making sure everything was on schedule. Unfortunately, he stumbled right onto a conversation between two chefs who were talking about Jacob’s death. “Can’t believe he just keeled over like that.” 

“I heard he was dead before he hit the ground. Poor Adam! That must’ve been—”

“Eddie! Carmen!” barked the head chef.

They looked at their boss and then followed his gaze towards Adam, who was rooted to the spot.

“Mr. Lambert!” said Carmen, eyes wide, “I…we…so sorry…we didn’t mean—”

The head chef shouted, “I should fire you both!”

“No,” said Adam, “don’t be ridiculous, it’s fine, just…” He sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose and tried not to lose his composure. “Just promise that the duck will be ready on time.”

“Of course it will, Mr. Lambert. Everything will be perfect,” said Eddie, dabbing at his red face with a kitchen towel as if that would erase the embarrassment and regret. 

“I’m sure,” Adam mumbled as he left. The head chef started to lecture Eddie and Carmen before he was out of earshot. He was about to open the main parlor doors when his mother came out of them. She saw his face and pulled him aside. 

“Honey? You okay?”

Adam thought about how difficult it was to sew together the shreds of his heart. They seemed to fall apart, weeping and frayed, every time he got the needle close. No matter how successful he was at moving on, he would be tasked with mending the loss of Jacob for the rest of his life. Even if he succeeded, there would be no permanent healing, only a scar that would hopefully soften over time. In one of the numerous books he now owned on grief and bereavement, there was a paragraph discussing what to say when someone asks the dreaded questions: Are you okay? How are you holding up? Truth mixed with optimism was generally enough to satisfy people. 

“No, I’m not okay, but I will be.” 

But Leila had heard this so many times that it was no longer effective. “Don’t give me that,” she said gently. “If you need a break, I can handle the guests.”

“The last thing I want is to be alone right now.”

She smiled and squeezed his hand. “Let’s open a few more bottles of wine then,” she said with a wink. Adam loved her for not saying stupid things people always say, like ‘don’t worry it’ll get easier.’ The next person to say it was going to get slapped in the face. 

“Yeah, and we should try the bottle Neil brought so he can stop going on about how amazing it is.”

“Deal,” she said, chuckling. 

His tattered heart went back under plastic wrap for the time being, and the heart belonging to his family and friends came out to mingle. He chatted, sipped wine, noshed on hors d'oeuvres and threw himself into enjoying the party. Surreptitiously, Adam also thought about how he was going to contact Tommy without the world finding out. Twitter was not an option. He’d have to follow Tommy in order to DM him, and his fans would have a field day with that. He could already see the tweets of speculation as they tried to figure it all out. Maybe he’d use his connections to contact People Magazine, who’d interviewed Tommy. They might have his contact information. But that would surely lead to rumors. _Hmmm. Can’t stalk his apartment, that’s bound to draw attention. Can’t call him at work._ Adam hadn’t been able to stop visiting Tommy’s tumblr, and had read all about him getting fired.

“Adam,” said Danielle, interrupting his train of thought, “I’m going to get Ravi up from his nap. People want to give him presents.” 

“Is it present time already?” he asked, smiling at everyone. Their eager faces were more than enough answer, and it was clear by the end of an hour that the real purpose of Christmas this year was to shower Ravi and Adam with gifts and love. After two hours, the area around father and son was littered with infant clothing, books, activity boards, blankets, stuffed animals, a bouncy chair, diapers, and a few rattles. Ravi was mostly interested in the bright and crinkly wrapping paper. Although Adam could afford to purchase all of these items on his own, he felt the personal touch behind each gift and appreciated it more than he could say. 

Adam was happy to see that Danielle had also received an unusually large pile of presents including gift certificates to salons and clothing stores, baskets of tasty treats, music, movies and jewelry. Adam gave her a gold locket with a picture of Ravi in it. This she pressed to her heart and promised to wear everyday.

The best gifts by far came at the very end, and they were all for Adam, things he’d never even thought to ask for. His mother bought him a stand-alone freezer that would be delivered next week, after which she would stock it with home-cooked, single serving meals. She expressed her wish that this, along with a brochure for a high quality grocery service, would ensure that Adam’s days as a near anorexic were over. He hugged her hard and swore to eat like a pig. 

Eber came through with a gorgeous patio set and an outside bar, which he hoped would encourage Adam to host more social events. “Or you can just invite me over and we can grill and get drunk like real men,” he said in a mock tough-guy voice. Laughing, Adam gave him a hug, too, but told him to bring vodka instead of beer.

Adam was surprised at Neil’s gift; it showed more insight than he’d expected from his brother. “If this works, you get the prize for best gift ever,” he said after unwrapping a CD of guided meditation for sleep. There was no better present than sleep, and even when Adam managed to get in a few hours, they were fitful at best. He had a very hard time turning his brain off.

“I did a lot of research before finding this particular one,” said Neil. “The reviews all say that it works like a charm.”

“God bless you,” Adam said heartily, “really, Neil…thanks.”

He got handmade babysitting coupons from almost everyone at the party, family and friends alike, and he couldn’t help but think how handy they would be for hook up nights with Tommy. _No need to feel guilty about it. I deserve some fun times. Just gotta figure out how to make the fun times happen._

Adam stood up and surveyed the room. Every face was turned toward him, and he was suddenly overcome with emotion. “Thank you all, so much, it’s more than I ever…” He wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. “I love you guys, a lot.”

“Stop it,” said Danielle, sniffling, “my hormones are still a mess!” 

Everyone laughed. “We love you, too, honey,” said Alisan, who was holding two-year-old Mason on her lap, “and I for one love you even more for your taste in presents!” More laughter and nods of agreement. Adam had outdone himself in an attempt to express his gratitude for all the support over the last year. In addition to personalized gifts, each guest had received an all expenses paid vacation to the destination of their choice.

“It’s the least I can do,” he said, and meant it. He was about to go on when the head chef appeared and announced that dinner was ready. “Excellent!” Adam cheered, “everyone please head into the dining room.” He led the way, for the moment feeling genuinely happy. This feeling lasted throughout the outstanding feast, past dessert and into the late evening after the last guest walked out the door.

Adam began to tidy up a little, moving Ravi’s gifts into the nursery and hauling armfuls of wrapping paper to the garage. Sure, he had a cleaning service, but he tried to make things as easy as he could for them.

A strong wind was blowing outside, picking up grains of dry snow and whipping them around. It sounded like a sickly ghost was trying to the haunt the night, howling and coughing snow at windowpanes and doors. Adam shuddered, feeling inexplicably cold in the warm house, and quickly headed to the bedroom where Ravi was already sleeping. He closed the drapes, put some soft music on to drown out the wind and crawled into bed. Although he was exhausted, sleep eluded him as usual, and after an hour of tossing and turning, he got up and retrieved Neil’s gift. The guided meditation did, in fact, work like a charm. When Ravi woke up four hours later wanting a bottle, Adam actually felt rested. _I am so giving Neil a raise._

The night was quiet, the ghost having grown tired and weak, and as Adam fed little Ra, his relaxed brain finally came up with a solution for contacting Tommy.

23

The Cock bar was always open, even on Christmas Night. Tommy took a cab but still had to battle the wind and flying snow for a few seconds before reaching the club doors. He shivered and stomped his feet once inside, thinking that a stiff drink would warm him up. Just a small one though; he didn’t want to lose focus. A shot of bourbon did the trick. “Thanks,” he said to the bartender, “and can I ask you something?” Tommy pulled out his phone, opened a bookmarked page in Safari and turned the screen to face the bartender. “Do you know this guy?”

“Kid, everyone knows who that is.”

“No, I mean do you _know_ him, ever seen him in here?”

The bartender narrowed his eyes at Tommy. “What’s it to you?” 

Tommy was prepared. He’d thought it all through on the ride over and knew that the only way to get an honest answer was to be honest in the first place. He explained about bumping into Adam on the street, how he’d told Adam he’d hit on Jacob in this bar, and how Adam probably thought Jacob was a cheater. The bartender’s eyes grew satisfyingly wide.

“No way, Jake would never…that’s not why he came here, not at all!” He shook his head as he poured a few more drinks for other customers. Tommy could hear him muttering. “Good kid, loyal kid, no way he’d do that.” 

“How can you be sure?” Tommy asked.

“Because I did know him. He used to come in here all the time and we’d talk…such a nice kid…but I only seen him once after he started dating Adam. Only once before he died.”

Tommy leaned forward in anticipation, biting his lip to keep from talking. 

A frown deepened the heavy lines in the bartender’s face. “You’re in touch with Adam? You can tell him that his husband wasn’t a cheater?”

“Yes.” That was a half-lie. Tommy had no idea how he’d get a hold of Adam again, but he would. Goddamnit he would. 

After another minute of frowning, the bartender finally relented. “He was meeting with an art guy.”

“He was…what?” Tommy sat back, stunned. Who the fuck would come here to discuss art?

“Yeah, the guy was an artist, something about a surprise gift for Adam. I don’t know the details.”

“Did you get his name?”

“Don’t matter. I told you Jake wasn’t a cheater and now you know it’s true. You can tell Adam.” He seemed to think they were all done, and went back to wiping the bar.

“But…but…”

“But nothing. The guy came back a week later, said the present was done. Didn’t know Jake was dead, did he? I had to tell him.”

“So Adam never got it?”

“How the fuck should I know? Look, kid, get out of here. You’re bringing me down and it’s Christmas. Go away.”

“Please…the artist’s name,” said Tommy, his tone as close to pleading as he’d allow. The bartender huffed and walked off to the other side of the bar, but Tommy followed him, determined. “I promise to go if you tell me, and if I ever come back here I’ll never speak about this again. I swear.” 

The beefy man squinted at him. “Tell you what. Promise to never come back, because I’m gonna think about that Jake and about how he’s dead every time I see you. Promise, and I’ll give you the name.”

Tommy didn’t hesitate. “Done.”

“Fine then. It’s Dillon.”

“Dillon what?”

“No idea. Just Dillon, some sculptor from East Village.”

“Perfect,” said Tommy, smiling. “Have a happy life.”

“Whatever, kid.”

Tommy went home and immediately started searching the web for East Village sculptors named Dillon. Maybe he had given the gift to Adam, maybe not. Tommy was going to find out, because somehow his passionate hate toward Adam had become passionate want, and he would not be denied. Delivering the news that Jacob had been faithful was good, but this whole gift thing was a bonus. Either way, Adam would see Tommy as more than just a fuck. It completely flew in the face of his belief system. It was ridiculous, but Tommy couldn’t help it. Although he still felt broken and lost, somewhere in that mess his heart had come to life.

 

***

 

On the day after Christmas at ten in the morning, Tommy was staring at a small blue sign on the door of Ashram Studio. “Closed until December twenty-ninth,” he read. “Shit.” He sent a text to Sutan: no joy shop is closed til Mon. A few seconds later came the reply: patience. “Fuck patience,” grumbled Tommy. He didn’t even know if this would be worth it. “What the fuck am I doing?” He was freezing. Last night the heavens had unloaded a foot and a half of snow onto the streets and homes of Manhattan, and it’d taken Tommy ten minutes to navigate the un-shoveled sidewalk on his way to catch a taxi. His black skinny jeans were still soaked to the knee. 

“This is so dumb. I don’t even know what I want.” _You want Adam._ “Yeah, yeah, and then what? What if I get him?” Tommy hadn’t thought past the wanting stage. He had no idea how to do relationship stuff, especially with a widowed, single dad. “I’m insane, that’s it. I’m just fucking nuts.” He walked down the block, in search for another cab to take him home. _Or maybe I’ll go find a twink and fuck his brains out and forget about this shit._

He didn’t realize that a black sedan had followed him here, and was now following him down the street. He was oblivious until it parked right next to him, and even then Tommy only gave it a cursory glance as he walked by.

“Hey!”

He stopped and looked back. There was an arm sticking out of the window of the sedan, holding an envelope. The arm waved. Tommy looked around; there was no one else nearby. Only idiots like him went out in knee-deep snow on the day after Christmas. The arm waved again, and Tommy moved towards it. He got close enough to see that the driver was an old man wearing a gray suit. 

“Here, it’s for you, from Adam,” said the man. 

Tommy wavered a moment longer, his eyes landing on a blue thermos in the passenger seat.

“Don’t be a fool, son, take it.” The driver’s face was kind. It reminded Tommy of his grandfather’s.

“I’m not,” he said, and took it. The man winked and drove off without another word. Ever a slave to impulse, Tommy tore open the envelope and pulled out a square of yellow paper. He gaped at the words.

Hilton Hotel, 152 West 26th St. Saturday. 8pm. Rm 220.

_Holy fucking shit! He wants to hook up!_ Tommy was so astonished, so incredibly thrilled, that he almost missed the other item in the envelope. It was a plastic keycard to the Hilton Hotel. ‘Elevator,’ said the tiny note stuck to it. A sharp gasp cut the air. This was no joke. “I am the SHIT!” Tommy exclaimed. _I gave Adam Lambert, international superstar, the fuck of his life and now he wants more!_

Tommy’s ego swelled large enough to lift him right out of the snow and into the air. Cackling, he texted Sutan, explaining what had just happened. After a few flaily messages back and forth, Sutan wanted to know if Tommy still planned on telling Adam about how Jacob wasn’t a cheater.

T: well duh I’m not a total jerk course I’ll tell him.  
S: what about the art thing?  
T: I’ll give him all the info and he can deal w/it.  
S: solid. OMG we need to plan your outfit!  
T: my place in an hour?  
S: hell no girlfriend we’re goin to fashion district my treat. meet me at true religion, jeans to die for!  
T: YES!

The laugh that came out of Tommy’s mouth was both creepy and seductive. He was, in his humble opinion, the most badass motherfucker that ever lived, and all the unsettling relationship-y thoughts he’d been carrying around faded away as he imagined having sex with Adam in a luxurious hotel room. The last time they’d fucked had been exceptionally hot, and things could only get better, hotter and more mind blowing. Tommy got hard just thinking about it, and thanks to Adam’s little note, he was starting to feel like his old self again.

 

***

 

Save for the man waiting up in Room 220, the lobby of the Hilton Hotel had never seen a more beautiful creature than Tommy Joe Ratliff. His clothing, though simple in color and design, looked as if it had been hand tailored to fit him. The dark bootcut jeans with back pocket flaps made curves where there were none. A three-quarter sleeve, black v-neck shirt perfectly showed off his long fingers and slim wrists while still accentuating his toned chest. But it wasn’t the clothes or even the high fashion cowboy boots that made people stare. It was his face. Sutan had spent over an hour emphasizing his natural beauty, and the effect was stunning.

The high cheekbones of an elf, sphinx-like eyes and lips painted burgundy, his hair, almost white-blonde, such a contrast to the dark clothes that it seemed to be glowing – he looked like a new breed of mythical creature designed to stimulate lust.

Tommy’s outer appearance matched how he was feeling on the inside, gorgeous and cocksure. He radiated confidence with every stride across the marble floor, and as he neared the elevators and pulled out the keycard, his lips turned up in a smirk.

24

Upstairs in the presidential suite, Adam was already half naked and barefoot, wearing only a pair of jeans and a hungry smile.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **ARTWORK NOTE** : At the end the story you will see links to 2 pieces of art. They were done by @ListoffSay and @LucasVitek. @ListoffSay created the drawing specifically for this fic (which is AMAZING), and most of you have probably already seen the one by @LucasVitek, as it is part of his KICKASS Adam portfolio. He generously gave me permission to use it in this chapter. The drawings are meant to be inspiration to help the reader visualize what Adam is seeing during a scene in this chapter.

Adam checked into the Hilton at seven o’clock, looking gorgeous in leather pants and a low cut shirt that showed off his chest. Once in the suite, he started pacing…and thinking. He wanted to make sure that he got the upper hand immediately with Tommy, that he’d be the one to set the tone for their play date. _I want to undo him, wipe that cocky little grin off his face._ “No I ain’t broken, but I…I need a fix,” Adam sang, half chuckling. Tonight, he decided, Tommy would meet his match. This required a change of clothing, something that would throw Tommy off guard. _He’ll expect me to be dressed to the hilt._ Suddenly inspired, Adam stripped, ruffled through his overnight bag and threw on a pair of black jeans. 

He was ready, and horny as fuck.

At eight sharp he heard the sound of someone trying the door handle. _Ha. Didn’t know that elevator card wouldn’t work for my room, did ya Tommy?_ After another few seconds there was a knock. Adam went to the door and looked through the peephole. It was Tommy alright, blurry and a little distorted by the fisheye lens, but even so Adam knew he was in trouble. _So fucking hot!_ He took a deep breath and opened the door.

Standing in front of him was a fantasy doll come to life, a pixie, a woodland animal, and a sexpot all rolled up into one flawless vision. He moaned under his breath, already hard. Tommy’s eyes grew wide, and those perfect lips parted, seemed to tremble.

“Get in here,” Adam commanded, and grabbed Tommy by the back of the neck. He met no resistance. The sexpot let himself be manhandled into the room and right into Adam’s embrace. Adam tugged, fingers twining in the glowing hair, the other hand cupping Tommy’s jaw and lifting it up. There was lust in those brown eyes, oh yes, but also swagger, a silent message that was all too clear: I made you want me.

“Back at ya,” said Adam with a smug smile as he kicked the door shut. He stared at Tommy’s lower lip, all painted and pretty, and went in for the kill, latching on, then sucking it into his mouth. Tommy made the smallest of sounds, a defiant huff, and Adam sucked harder, licked at the plump flesh, tongued all the lipstick away. He felt heat against his thigh, Tommy pressing in, and hands flapping like bats up and down his back, then the sharp pain of nails digging. Adam didn’t relent, and after a minute passed Tommy started bucking his hips and whining, his fingers looking for purchase as he humped Adam’s leg.

 _Almost there, just a little more._ He tightened the grip on Tommy’s neck, pulled at the roots of his hair and delivered a bruising bite to his already swollen lip. 

Tommy cried out and his knees buckled. Satisfied, Adam lowered him to the ground, straddled him and kissed him, tasting blood. There was no fight, only the frantic movements of a man desperate to get off, sloppy lips, flailing arms and hips still thrusting, begging Adam for help.

And Adam helped, because he was nice like that. It took ten strokes to get the friction just right, cock to cock, but only three for Tommy to come in his brand new jeans.

Afterwards, Adam stood up and went to pour himself a glass of wine. He smiled as he poured. He was still hard.

25

Tommy, on the other hand, was spent, panting and confused. _All he did was suck on my lip!_ He’d never been a submissive, always topping from the bottom, but that had been…he didn’t even know. Sexy? Frustrating? Frightening? Yes, and more. Anger suddenly glowed hot in his belly. He sat up and touched his lower lip. It was puffy and it hurt like hell. “What the fuck,” he said, standing up, “was that all about?” He walked over to Adam, ignoring the opulence of the room, and crossed his arms, furious.

Adam took a sip of wine before answering. “Payback.”

“For what? You bit me!”

“You made me lose control last time. I thought I’d return the favor.” Adam set his glass down on the bar and looked right into Tommy’s eyes. “I know you liked it.”

Tommy glared at him, not about to admit to anything. “You cocky motherfucker.”

“I’m cocky?” Adam said, his tone hot and smooth. He took Tommy by the shoulders and started walking him to the bed. “You should talk. I’m stunned that your giant head even fits in this room.” 

Tommy rallied himself. “You’re a celebrity…you could have anyone you want. But you want me. You’re the one who stroked my ego.”

“Oh I’ll stroke more than that.”

They stood a few feet from the bed, Tommy wrestling with his anger and lust, wanting to tear Adam apart and submit to him all at once. He was paralyzed. 

Adam smirked, then began to rub the bulge of Tommy’s cock in slow circles, urging it back to life. “What’s the matter? Too worn out for another round?”

Tommy blinked. “Jacob didn’t cheat on you.”

Niagara Falls. Ten cold showers. One hundred buckets of icy water. Adam and Tommy both gasped, Tommy at his own stupidity. _Why now? Why like that? Stupid stupid stupid!_

“What? How do you…wait.” Adam shook his head and backed away. “What are you talking about?”

It all came out in a rush that Tommy couldn’t stop. “I went to the Cock bar and talked to the bartender and he knew Jacob and told me why he was there and how he wasn’t a cheater and about this art guy.”

“You went…why? What art guy? What--”

“He was making a present for you, and…and…but then he died and--”

“Stop!” Adam yelled. His face was suddenly inches from Tommy’s. It was extremely pale. Tommy focused on the cheekbones, unable to bear the pain he’d glimpsed in Adam’s eyes. “Sit down and tell me from the beginning,” Adam went on, “and slowly.”

So Tommy did, right down to the moment the driver had handed him Adam’s note yesterday morning. He looked at the floor as he spoke, at Adam’s bare feet and painted toenails. It was a cowardly thing to do and he knew it. This was all wrong. He’d planned to tell Adam in the afterglow of sex, maybe when they were cuddled up in bed, and then Adam would thank him and hug him and see him as more than a fuck. Deep down, Tommy had still wanted that. He tried to blame Adam for messing things up, for taking control and fucking with him. 

Silence followed the end of the story. After a few moments Tommy told himself to man up, and he chanced a glance at Adam. Everything he saw in that face confirmed that he was in over his head. A relationship was out of the question, and he’d probably just ruined any hope of future hookups. _Why did I go to that stupid bar in the first place, why did I get involved? Damn it! Adam wanted me, had his driver follow me for fuck sake and now…_

“When were you gonna tell me, huh?” Adam spat. His eyes were glassy and raw. “After all the fucking around? You could’ve said something in the beginning, you could’ve…” Adam balled up his fists. “He was my husband!”

“Well I didn’t have much of a chance, did I?” Tommy yelled back. “And if it wasn’t for me you wouldn’t know about the present, and now you do and you’ll be able to get it and have…something…” He ran his hands through his hair. It was time to leave. Tommy got up and headed for the door. He stopped before opening it and said, “I had a Jacob who died, too, and…I don’t have anything of his.” Adam moved toward him, but Tommy was so done with this. “You should be grateful,” he said, and walked out. Fuck it all. 

He got about ten steps before Adam came out and hauled him back into the room. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…” Adam pressed his hands to his eyes and sniffled. “It was a shock, you caught me off guard. I’m sorry.”

Tommy’s anger simmered down, but he didn’t know what to do with a weepy Adam. This didn’t fit into fight or flight…or fuck. He hadn’t anticipated crying, which was sort of dumb come to think of it. “It’s okay,” he said, and patted Adam on the arm, feeling awkward. Adam kept sniffling, so Tommy kept patting. Pat, pat, pat…pat, pat, pat, until Adam looked at him.

“What are you doing?”

Tommy flushed bright pink and stopped patting. “I, uh…being supportive?”

“Well you suck at it,” said Adam, almost smiling, and to Tommy’s relief, he stopped sniffling. Shaking his head, Adam walked to a small table and grabbed a pen and a pad of hotel stationary. “Here, write down the name of the studio and the address if you remember it. Thank you,” he said, as Tommy began to write. “I mean for finding out about the present and…I’m sorry, about your Jacob.”

Tommy stiffened. He’d said that out of anger, another mistake. “It’s fine,” he muttered.

“Why’d you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Go to the bar to investigate.”

Tommy stuffed the pen and pad into Adam’s hand, feeling completely out of his element. He shrugged, trying to come up with something other than ‘because I wanted to be your boyfriend.’ After a moment he had it. “To make up for the first time we met, I guess, for being…insensitive.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, so, I’m gonna get going.”

“Tommy.”

“Yeah?”

“Write down your number, too,” said Adam, offering the paper and pen again.

Tommy met his eyes and saw that he was serious. “You want…really? I mean after all that you still--” 

“I want some play time, that’s all, and despite everything…” Adam sighed heavily. “I don’t think I can stop myself from wanting it with you, but just sex, nothing more.”

“Me too,” said Tommy, “that’s all I want, too.” He was more certain than ever that anything more would lead to disaster. He’d been an idiot to consider a relationship. But regular hookups, fuck yeah, he could definitely get into that. He wrote his number on the paper, making sure that it was legible. 

Adam took it, nodded, and set it aside. “Good, good…okay then,” he said, “now let’s go over the ground rules.”

“Rules?”

“Yeah. Number one, no tweeting about this, no facebook or tumblr either, no pictures, and no gossiping to your friends. What happens between us stays between us. Got it?”

Tommy frowned. “But what about my best friend? He already knows I came here. He helped me get ready, even did my face.”

Adam stepped close and traced a fingertip down Tommy’s cheek. Tommy held back a shiver.

“He did an amazing job,” said Adam softly. “Who is he?”

“Sutan.”

“Sutan Amrull? The makeup artist?”

“Yep, and I trust him completely.”

“How the fuck did you two become…no, never mind, it doesn’t matter. But that guy has tons of connections. How can you be sure he won’t run his mouth? For that matter, how do I know you won’t?”

“Because,” said Tommy, standing on tiptoe so he could whisper into Adam’s ear, “I don’t want to ruin this.” He felt Adam shudder and knew he’d sealed the deal.

“Alright. Just…just Sutan though.” Adam licked his lips and Tommy smirked, loving the effect he was having. He nibbled on Adam’s earlobe. “How ‘bout we start right now?” The sharp intake of breath was most satisfying, but Adam quickly retreated.

“No, I need to think, sort things out.”

_The present._

“Ok…the second rule,” Adam went on, returning to his glass of wine and taking a big gulp.

 _Ah well, it was worth a try anyway._ “I’m listening.”

“We communicate by text only. I’ll message you a date and time and instructions.”

“So I have to be at your beck and call?” said Tommy, pouting, “What is this, Pretty Woman? How come you get to decide everything?”

“Because my schedule is way more complicated than yours, mister unemployed.”

That hit a nerve. “Your fault,” Tommy grumbled, but he was secretly pleased that Adam had cyberstalked him enough to know that he’d been fired.

“How is it my fault?”

“Nevermind.” He sighed. “I should at least get to make suggestions. It’s only fair.”

“Fine, fine,” said Adam. “Rule number three…”

“Christ! How many rules are there?”

“This is the last one.” Adam stared at Tommy. His eyes were suddenly blue fire, but cold somehow, deadly cold. “You don’t approach me in public. And you don’t try to find out where I live. You don’t come to my house or anywhere near it. Understand?”

Tommy nodded, a little shaken by this uber intense version of Adam. But before he left, he did his best to regain the upper hand by announcing his own rule to this game. He returned to his spot at Adam’s ear and said, “I’ll follow all your rules, but only if you agree that the next time we play…” He touched Adam’s lower lip. “…I get to come in your mouth.”

26

December 29, 2014

Adam squeezed his mother’s hand again and said, for the third time, “I don’t think I can do this.” She made the sound, that comforting hum of acknowledgement, and returned his squeeze. “I mean of course I want what he wanted me to have, of course I do, it’s just…what if…mom…” He swallowed what felt like a mouthful of ash. “Won’t it make things worse for me?” He felt selfish saying that, as if Jacob’s gift wasn’t worth a little extra pain. It wouldn’t be just a little though, he was sure.

“Hmmm,” Leila hummed again. “You could leave it here with the artist, we could go in and tell him to keep it, maybe as a display piece. Or, if you really want it, you could put it in storage for a while.”

“I at least have to see what it is,” said Adam, “and then…then I can decide?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“Okay. Yeah, that’s what I’ll do. Okay, yeah.” Adam continued this _okay, yeah_ mantra in his head a few more times before pushing the privacy screen button. The black partition came down to reveal Chuck’s smiling face looking back at them.

“Decided where you want to go?”

“Yeah we did, I mean I did. Here.” Adam handed him a slip of paper with the address on it. Chuck nodded. The sedan was parked near Madison Square Garden, about two miles north of Ashram Studio. Chuck started the engine and headed into the godawful Monday afternoon traffic without complaint. “The artist’s name is Dillon,” said Adam as they approached the studio. “Tell him that I’m here to pick up a piece of art and I want to view it privately. Level Orange privacy protocol.” Chuck nodded again, but sharply this time. Level Orange meant serious business.

It was Jacob who’d come up with the whole thing, joking one day that the Homeland Security color codes would be more effective as an alert system for gay celebrities. “What, to warn the world that gay celebrities are about to attack?” Adam had asked, chuckling. And then they’d both dissolved into uncontrollable laughter, imagining an army of gay actors and singers descending upon the world’s cities and demanding better scripts, more wardrobe choices and higher profile gigs. They forgot about the color code idea until weeks later when Adam had gone into Whole Foods, not knowing that a local chapter of the New York Glamberts was there for lunch. He’d been completely mobbed. Now he had two systems, one for privacy and one for security, each designed to protect him in various situations. 

Chuck pulled up to the address, activated the extra dark window tinting and got out of the car. Adam and Leila stayed inside, waiting for the all clear. 

“I’m right here,” his mother said, still holding his hand. Adam played with the ring on her pinky, tapped his foot and tried not to bite his nails. He started singing, quietly, and was on the last chorus of Outlaws of Love when Chuck got back in the car. “All set,” said the driver. “Go quick now.”

Adam pulled his baseball cap down further, opened the car door and made a beeline for the studio. The sign said CLOSED but he went in anyway. His mother followed, and someone, presumably Dillon, locked the door behind them. There was no one else inside.

“Mr. Lambert, I’m so…I can’t believe it.” Dillon stared at Adam. “For the longest time, I didn’t know what to do, please…forgive me for not contacting you, I just--”

“It’s alright,” said Adam with a smile, quickly trying to reassure the man. He had no desire whatsoever to hear Dillon’s story. “I’d like to see it right away. This is Leila, and she’ll be joining me.” 

Dillon nodded so hard and fast that he looked like a bobble head doll, Bob Marley style with dreads and a peace sign headband. “Of course, yes, of course you do. Right this way, Mr. Lambert, Leila. It’s in the workshop. I put it up on one of the tables for you.”

“Thank you.” Even though he felt like he was about to throw up, Adam couldn’t help but notice Dillon’s fussy mannerisms and how they didn’t seem to fit his 70’s era clothing, or even this art studio. _It doesn’t matter, just focus on not puking._

Dillon stopped short of the workshop and motioned for Adam to continue on. “I’ll just…uh, wait up here.”

Leila smiled warmly at him. “Thank you.”

A faint blush rose to his cheeks as he smiled back, and then he was gone, leaving Adam to face the workshop door. _Okay, it’s a piece of art in there, not a room full of zombies. This isn’t the apocalypse._ He squared his shoulders and without any further drama, threw the door open. The blinds inside were all closed, but he hardly cared about privacy at this point. Nothing mattered except for the object on the table, and surprisingly, his first glance didn’t bring on thoughts of Jacob or any painful emotions. Walking toward it, all he felt was shock.

There he was…Adam…it was _him_ sitting on the table, a magnificent, intricately detailed bronze sculpture, reaching out to the heavens, proclaiming dominion over all and yet submitting to all. It was him as Ravi combined with him as Ra, the Hindu and Egyptian gods of the sun, sitting cross legged with his head tilted upwards, a total of four arms, one holding an ankh, another with a lotus flower in its palm, and his face…

The tears finally kicked in as Adam looked into his own miniature face and saw himself through Jacob’s eyes. Lotus petals at the edge of his vision blurred, green and blue gems shone brighter, twinkling in his watery gaze. 

A gentle hand on his shoulder made him jump. He’d forgotten his mother was there, forgotten about everything but this…this tribute of love…for Adam and for their precious son, Ravi. He was afraid to touch it, as if it were something sacred, which was sort of odd since the statue was, well…himself. But it was also Jacob somehow, and Ravi, too.

“Sorry,” said Leila, but she kept her hand on his shoulder.

“It’s okay,” he whispered. “It’s…mom…oh my god.” He leaned into her, his throat constricting painfully as he tried not to cry. “I want…tell Dillon I want…” He swallowed hard, determined to finish. “That I want to take it home. I’ll be out in a minute.”

“Okay,” she said, but she didn’t leave until Adam stepped away from her.

A moment later Adam heard loud music playing in the front of the store (God bless his mother), and he sat down and allowed himself to sob until his throat felt better. It only took a minute or so. Then he rose, wiped his eyes and turned his back on the sculpture. He would spend time with it at home. Right now he needed to focus on getting out of the studio. After clearing his throat several times, Adam tapped around his eyes with the pads of his fingertips, trying to reduce the puffiness he knew was there. As he performed this beauty trick, he could somehow feel the statue’s energy behind him. He really needed to get out of here. 

Dillon cut off the chunky reggae beats as soon as he spotted Adam. “I have a box,” he said, looking everywhere except at Adam’s red-rimmed eyes. “I can pack it up for you no problem.”

“Good, thank you.” Adam was about to ask his mom to supervise this while he waited in the car, but suddenly caught sight of a painting hanging on the wall behind Dillon. It was a Libra goddess holding the scales of day and night, and the artwork was so beautiful, so captivating that for a moment he couldn’t look away. A small voice in the back of his head wondered if it was for sale, and how much it cost. _Cost?_ Adam tore his gaze from the painting and focused on Dillon. “Did Jacob pay you for the commission?”

“What? I…no, Mr. Lambert, there’s no need,” said the artist, his eyes going wide. “I don’t want--”

“How much?” Adam insisted. He didn’t understand why this was important, but it was. Dillon said five hundred, but Adam knew it was a lie. All that detailed work and more gemstones than he’d had time to count… “Don’t insult me. I may not be a sculptor, but I know quality when I see it.”

Dillon started wringing his hands. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to insult you, it’s just…it was supposed to be a gift for you. You’re not supposed to have to pay.” Adam just crossed his arms, and looking resigned, Dillon finally mumbled, “Three thousand.”

“Done. And hold that Libra painting for me,” said Adam, pointing. “I’m assuming it’s for sale?” He waited just long enough to hear a whispered “yes” before turning to his mother. “Will you please take care of the gift? Use this,” he said when she agreed, and handed her a black credit card. The last of his emotional strength was about to give out. He hurried to the door, dove into the sedan and curled up on the back seat. “Drive,” Adam said to Chuck. “Ten minutes and then we’ll come back for my mom.” 

The car hummed to life and Adam hugged his knees to his chest, wondering if bringing the sculpture home would turn out to be a mistake. Would it hinder him from moving on, forever yanking him back into a quagmire of pain every time he looked at it? _I have to have it, though. It’s important somehow…for my future, or something._ Adam knew this was true as soon as he had the thought. He shivered, feeling uneasy, but when his mother slid into the seat next to him ten minutes later, he was thinking about what Tommy had said, how he was lucky to have something from Jacob, and how he should be grateful. _I am grateful. I probably would never have known about the sculpture if it wasn’t for Tommy._

27

Tommy lay on the floor next to his bed, belly down, arms and legs splayed like a starfish, trying to figure out what kinds of jobs to apply to. In two hours he’d only come up with one idea, because his thoughts kept drifting to Adam and the promise of a sex-only relationship. After the first hour he’d made himself go into starfish mode to keep his hands away from his dick.

 _Credit debt collector. Yeah, really brilliant idea, dipshit._ Even though he was good at it, Tommy didn’t want to be a debt collector anymore. Listening to people whine about their financial troubles was pretty irritating after a while, but it was the elderly that really got to him. They had a way of breaking his heart. Tommy looked at the shoebox under his bed and sighed. “No more taking money from old people,” he said loudly, banging his fist with every word. 

A series of thumps sounded near his right knee. “Knock it off, broom guy!” he yelled, banging both fists this time.

Broom Guy responded vehemently, which sent Tommy into a fit of kicking and pounding toddler tantrum style. Broom Guy’s broom was no match, as usual. Tommy always won. After delivering a taunting “HAHA!” through the floor, he rolled onto his back and smiled. _I should be a fighter or wrestler or something._ The thought made his smile turn into a chuckle. Sure he was tough in a scrappy sort of way, but he had no doubt that he’d get torn to pieces in a ring. He’d have better luck persuading his opponent to let him win in return for something. He could be damn persuasive all right; it was what made him such a good medical debt collector. _So what other kind of job needs…oh my god, that’s it!_ Tommy couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought of this sooner. He got up and went into the bathroom. “I’m going to be a salesman,” he told his reflection.

An hour later he and Sutan were having a Thai food picnic on the couch and discussing what he should sell. By the time they were done eating, they’d made a list of about twenty possibilities. As Tommy scanned through it, a sense of certitude wrapped around him like a warm blanket. This was the right path. He had no idea, however, that one of the items on that list was not only the key to his financial future, but also crucial to his relationship with Adam.

[](http://s1108.photobucket.com/user/scorpfic/media/EgyptianSunGod_zpse0ec0d7c.png.html)

[](http://s1108.photobucket.com/user/scorpfic/media/HinduSunGod_zps794ef8d8.png.html)  



	7. Chapter 7

28

January 5, 2015

The aromas in Café Grumpy were, as usual, heavenly and addicting. Even those who were in a hurry still took a second to inhale them before running out the door with their to-go cup. Today, however, Tommy was going to use them to get himself a job. He stood just inside the doorway, off to the side a little with his eyes closed, letting the smells permeate his brain until he was certain he’d identified the six types of coffee being brewed. Customers started to look at him but he didn’t move, biding his time until—

“Can I help you?” called a barista from behind the counter, about ten feet away and to the right.

“Yes, I’d like to speak to your manager,” said Tommy. He was wearing a suit (the only one he owned), a charcoal two button deal that Sutan had helped him pick out.

“What is this about? Hey, can you come to the counter so I don’t have to yell?” she asked, sounding irritated.

Tommy shook his head. “Nope. This is the perfect spot. I can’t see the menu from here.” He didn’t care that he was causing a scene. In fact, it was better if everyone watched. “I’m not going to make any trouble, I just want to talk to the manager, okay?”

The barista eyed him for another moment before disappearing into the back. Tommy stayed put, acknowledging the customers’ glances with a nod and a polite smile. When the manager came out dressed in business attire and looking very serious, Tommy straightened his posture and squared his shoulders to match the man’s energy. _I can do this._

“May I help you?” asked the manager. He reminded Tommy of Christopher Walken as he had looked in the movie Pulp Fiction.

Tommy offered his hand. “Yes, I’d like you to hire me as an assistant manager.”

The manager stared at him, his eyes narrowed as if he were wondering about Tommy’s mental state. “I’m not hiring for that position right now,” he said slowly, “and even if I were…”

“I can name all six types of coffee you’re brewing right now, by aroma alone,” said Tommy, dropping his hand to his side.

“Even if that were true, it says nothing about your managerial skills. And…” He rolled his eyes and turned to leave. “I wouldn’t hire a circus freak coffee smeller anyway.”

Tommy wasn’t deterred in the least. “I can also tell you what country they come from and which one is selling the best this morning. If I’m right, then you give me an interview, today.” He stole a glance around the coffee shop. Most of the patrons were watching, and most looked intrigued.

“I have an even better idea,” the manager said, turning back to Tommy. “You leave my coffee shop right now and I won’t call the cops.”

“I’m not doing anything illegal,” said Tommy, still smiling.

“You’re loitering and you’re making a scene. But more importantly, you’re wasting my time. If you were serious about getting a job then you’d ask for an application like a normal person.”

At this, Tommy lowered his voice so no one else would hear what he was about to say. He didn’t want to cause bad press for his future employer. “You and I both know that you throw half of those in the garbage without looking at them. Give me an interview and then I’ll fill out your forms. If you don’t like me, no problem, but give me a chance.” Tommy opened the folder he’d brought with him, took out a piece of paper and handed it to the manager. It was a printout of the job opportunities section of Café Grumpy’s website. “You’re hiring, and you need me.”

The manager considered Tommy and then, rather loudly, said, “How do I know you weren’t in here earlier to sneak a peek at the menu?”

One of the patrons called out, “I’ve been here since the doors opened and didn’t see him until now. He hasn’t moved from that spot.” Several others nodded in agreement.

“Fine,” he said. “Do your little routine. If you’re right, you get an interview.” A few people clapped; this was much more interesting than the morning paper. “No one is allowed to help him,” he said, pointing at those who could see the menu.

“I don’t need any help,” Tommy said. He knew the manager was probably humoring him so that he’d leave, but he didn’t care. He rolled his shoulders and cleared his throat. “Santa Teresa, from Nicaragua, Paraiso from…Brazil, one of my favorites,” he said, winking. “Then you’ve got El Cascajal…Guatemala and La Coqueta from Columbia.” He paused to enjoy the looks he was getting and could tell that the manager was impressed, too. “Espiritu de San Luis from Costa Rica, it’s got that amazing hint of lavender.”

“One more.”

Tommy sniffed the air for dramatic effect. “Copo Mico from Honduras.”

“He’s right!” said a guy who’d been reading the menu. “He got them all right.”

The manager frowned. “And which is the best selling this morning?”

“Well, you might think it’s the Columbian bean, gives a nice burst of energy in the morning, but I bet it’s the Costa Rican instead.”

After walking over to the counter and checking with one of the baristas, the manager sighed. “Correct. You win an interview.”

Half of the crowd applauded Tommy while the other half just chuckled and returned to their coffee. This was New York, after all, and people did weird shit all the time. Tommy took a bow and extended his hand to the manager again. “Thomas Joseph Ratliff.”

“Nathan Waterman,” he said, shaking Tommy’s hand. “Let’s get this over with.”

Tommy nodded, followed him into the back, and proceeded to secure himself the position of assistant manager. It was the first step towards his goal of opening his own little coffee business. The bitch of it was that Tommy’s days of tardiness and irresponsibility were over for now. Mr. Waterman was a stickler for the rules and if Tommy was going to make this work, he’d have to play by them. Besides, he figured that once he owned his own business he could do whatever he wanted. What he needed now was to learn everything he could about the making, buying and selling of coffee, from who the best vendors were to the secrets of brewing the perfect cup. If that meant he had to set an alarm every morning so he wouldn’t be late to work, then so be it. A few rules wouldn’t change him. He’d still be the same old Tommy.

28

As Adam stared at the sculpture, his heart beating out a rhythm of pain and wonder, the warmth and weight of Ravi sleeping on his chest comforted him. Adam was sprawled out on his living room floor with a pillow under his head, one hand resting on Ravi’s back and the other dutifully brushing away the occasional tear.

He’d been at this for almost two weeks now, using his son’s nap times to process, to move through, to move on. It helped to have a schedule of sorts, a regular appointment with his feelings, and he found that he wasn’t as vulnerable to random attacks of sadness as he used to be. The statue was a focal point now too. Every day he’d take it out of the closet and focus on it during Ravi’s late morning nap. It was better therapy than reading books or paying someone to tell him what he already knew: time heals all wounds.

He no longer felt strange about staring at a statue of himself either. It wasn’t really him anyway, it was Jacob and Ravi and him all together…it was family, a symbol of unity, grace and love. Adam’s favorite part was the way the statue reached up to the heavens, as if it were communicating with Jacob. Grief and loved ebbed and flowed like the tide until Ravi’s breathing started to change, and Adam knew naptime was almost over. 

“Rise and shine,” he whispered as he watched Ravi’s eyes blink open, and then he sang, softly, “Arise, arise, open up your eyes, greet the world with your smile, oh wake up my little child.” He giggled at Ravi’s cute yawn, got up and carried him to the nursery for a diaper change, singing as he did so. “Time to get clean, my tiny little bean, momma’s comin’ to see you oh yes she is ‘cause daddy needs to work, hmmm hmmm, get you clean, little bean…” 

Suddenly Ravi smiled. Not a passing gas grin or even a gurgle, but an honest to goodness smile. It was his very first one and at the sight of it, Adam’s world lit up. “You’re smiling! Ravi, oh my god, look at you!” Adam sang some more, just a little nonsense ditty, but it was enough to make Ravi smile again. “You like it when daddy sings? How about if I siinnnnnng like this laaaa la laaa laaaa…” he sang, half-laughing with glee and realizing that he could probably do this all day, just stand here and sing and watch his boy smile. Ten minutes later he was still at it when Danielle came into the nursery.

“Dani, watch this…look look look!” When he demonstrated what seemed like a magic trick to him, Danielle gasped and started to squeal, too. They carried on until Adam had to leave (with much pouting) so he wouldn’t be late. He gave Ravi one last peck on the cheek and then skipped out of the house, his heart flying with parental joy. On the way to his meeting, he called his mom and bragged about Ravi.

 

***

 

“Adam, if we do it like that it’ll take two years to finish the album!”

“I don’t care, I’m not sacrificing fatherhood for money. We do it at my pace or not at all.” He crossed his arms in full diva style and glared at the label executives. 

“But your contract--”

“Says nothing about _when_ I have to release a new album, and there is no way in hell that I’m committing to a November deadline unless it’s November of next year.”

He continued to argue with the suits until they finally relented, as he knew they would. When all the ruffled feathers were smoothed, Adam and the execs started discussing the sound for album three. He was excited for something new, maybe a funk rock vibe mixed with pop. After working so hard over the years to gain credibility as an artist (instead of an openly gay whatever), he felt that he’d finally earned the right to do whatever the fuck he wanted. The confidence shone in his eyes as the meeting progressed, and by the end he was practically glowing with it. One of the female execs even blushed under his gaze and tugged at her collar.

Adam chuckled softly. This was good. No, better than good. This was…Adam. He left the meeting with a cocky bounce in his step, suddenly inspired to set up a play date with Tommy. He had no time to plan until much later that night, when Ravi was asleep and the house was quiet. But what he finally came up with was so brilliant, so incredibly hot that he had to rub one out in the shower before he was able to relax enough to sleep.

The next day he called Brad. 

“Hey, doll.”

“Hey yourself,” said Adam fondly. “How’s my favorite soon to be famous TV star?”

“Still got a ways to go on that one but yeah it’s so gonna happen,” Brad chirped. “Husbands will be the next big Thursday night sitcom, you’ll see.”

“I have no doubt. Just don’t forget the little people when you make it big.”

Brad snorted. “So, to what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Well…how long are you gonna be in town, you know…doing role research at Steamworks?”

“About two weeks. I’m doing front desk slash check in and it’s…hey! Oh honey,” Brad gasped, “you want me to sneak you in there, don’t you! Adam, babe, are you back on the market? Are you?”

“Kinda. I mean, not for anything serious,” said Adam, wincing at the thought of a real relationship with anyone. “I just need some trade. I’m fucking horny.”

“Well duh,” said Brad, sounding ridiculously happy. “Listen, you tell me what you need and I’ll make it happen. Do you have someone in mind already?”

Adam told him about Tommy and just about died laughing when Brad went into hysterics. “That guy you punched and then fucked at Fair Play? He is so damn pretty, you lucky bitch! Better watch out or I might abandon my post and crash your little fuck party!”

When Brad was done flailing, he and Adam made arrangements.

29

It didn’t matter how many times Tommy looked at the words; they were still there, unchanged and sinful. He caught himself covertly glancing at them throughout the day, and each time he felt the same thrill. As casual as he wanted to be about hooking up with Adam, he couldn’t ignore the puffed up peacock in his head that wanted to brag about it to the world. He wouldn’t, of course, but god did he want to.

Tommy did a quick check to make sure Mr. Waterman wasn’t watching, and then took out his phone and looked at Adam’s text. He literally had to stop himself from moaning out loud as he read the words yet again:

Steamworks. This Thursday at 9pm. Anon check in. Ask for Brad. You said u wanted to come in my mouth. Here’s your chance.

He bit his lip and forced his brain to refocus on coffee. Not Adam’s mouth stretching around his cock. Coffee. He stuck his nose into a bag of fresh beans, sighed and got back to work.

30

After spending a few hours at his favorite salon getting waxed and styled, Adam felt ready for his adventure, both mentally and physically. As the ladies worked on him, he’d let his mind process life and it’d come up with a genius way to help him feel better about fucking around with Tommy.

Before the emergence of grown up, responsible Adam, he had been club kid Adam, a high on life and sex and partying twenty-something hipster. And it was time to shake the dust off of that version of himself, to pull it on like a favorite jacket and zip it up before he went on a play date. Then when he got home to Ravi, he could hang it up in the closet until he needed it again. Fool proof, he thought.

31

Steamworks was a private gay bathhouse and club known for its clean, safe and modern amenities. Tommy had been there several times, although he’d never rented a private room before. Given that Adam was a celebrity, Tommy was betting he would rent one of the deluxe suites, complete with hot tub, steam room, play room and a bed. _How the hell is he going to get in there without being recognized though?_ Anonymous check in just meant that no ID or membership was required, but Adam’s face would give him away in an instant. _And who’s Brad?_

But the mystery of Brad quickly gave way to images of Adam, surrounded by steam, dripping wet and on his knees, his lips sliding up and down… Tommy shuddered as he pulled into a parking spot and cut the engine. When he walked into the club, he anticipated good service as usual. He did not, however, anticipate the person he came to know as Brad.

The first words out of the cheeky bastard’s mouth were, “Hi there, gorgeous, can I get you to sign up for the frequent fucker membership?”

Tommy raised an eyebrow at him. “Brad?”

“In the flesh,” he said, winking, and then sighed dramatically. “Shame I can’t join you. Here.” He handed Tommy a key. “Skip the locker room, take your first right and follow it to the end. Door on the right.” 

Tommy was about to leave when Brad leaned over the counter and whispered, “I’ll be here all night so you better come by before you leave. Wanna make sure you don’t look as pretty as I did after being pounded by him.”

Mystery solved. Brad was either an ex-boyfriend or an ex-hookup. “Bet I’ll look prettier,” he whispered back, and licked his lips for extra effect. As he walked away, he heard Brad groan. He chuckled, ignored the come ons from the other patrons and headed to the suite. The key turned smoothly in the lock and Tommy braced himself for an onslaught of hands and lips, but Adam was nowhere in sight. Not on the bed, not in the hot tub and not in the adjoining play room. That left the steam room. Sure enough, when he neared the door, he saw a small note tacked up next to it:

Get your ass in here.

Tommy shivered in excitement, but took a few moments to compose himself before shucking his clothes and entering. He refused to be caught off guard like last time, no fucking way. When he was certain that he was ready, he opened the door to the steam room and almost immediately felt his resolve shatter as Adam rose from the bench to greet him. Frantically, he tried to piece it back together, but…Adam.

Hot steam billowing around his naked form, his skin dripping with sweat and vapor, his face freckled, free of makeup…everything about him was raw, right down to the expression of lust that intensified with each step towards Tommy. 

Tommy told his feet to fucking move, told his hands to stop shaking, told his cock to settle down. His body ignored him. Fuck. He licked his lips over and over, tasting the dense, moist air, breathing it in as Adam descended on him. Freckles, so pretty, and those blue eyes were killing him; he had to make them look away. He put his hands on Adam’s shoulders and pressed down.

Adam smirked but didn’t resist the pressure, slowly going down to his knees, and yet somehow he was still in control, staring up at Tommy, hands sliding all over his skin. “Quit showing off and get to it,” Tommy growled.

Adam laughed. “Impatient much? Been that long since your last blow job?”

“You wish,” said Tommy, trying like hell to keep up the façade, which slipped dangerously low when he felt Adam’s mouth on his cock. He stumbled, let Adam guide him down onto a bench, and spread his legs obscenely wide. Why it was different with Adam, he didn’t know and he didn’t care. All that mattered was how incredible those lips felt, popping up over the head and back down again, and that tongue, swirling and licking all the right places until Tommy was bucking his hips uncontrollably and choking on the hot air. His brain was fog, his body a puppet to pleasure. 

At one point, he couldn’t say when, he looked down through the haze of steam and nearly came at the sight of Adam between his legs. Freckles glistened, cheekbones stood out prominently and a few drops of condensation dotted those long lashes, fanned out so beautifully. When they lifted, Adam pinned Tommy with commanding eyes. Come, they said. 

“Fuck!” Tommy cried, scratching at the bench and shooting his load into Adam’s mouth.

Adam just hummed, the cocky little fucker, and dug his fingers into Tommy’s thighs, making him gasp, cough and shiver despite the intense heat. _God I hate him._ Deep down Tommy knew he was no match for Adam, but he wasn’t about to admit it. He did his best to stand up without swaying and launched himself at the devil, crashing their lips and bodies together, so slick and wet. 

They tumbled out of the steam room and onto the bed, writhing and fighting for dominance until Tommy finally won by straddling Adam and grinding into him, frotting up and down his hard length.

“God…fuck,” Adam groaned. His hand shot towards the pile of condoms on the bedside table, but Tommy was one step ahead of him. In seconds he’d prepped Adam and was working himself open on that thick cock. 

“Let me make you come like this,” said Tommy, panting, his pupils blown, “and the rest of the night is yours.”

“Like I have a choice right now, you hot piece of ass. Look at you all fucking yourself open. Shit.” Adam closed his eyes as if to savor the moment, and that brought Tommy’s pride back to life.

32

Adam was indeed savoring the moment, trying to imprint the image of Tommy being a cock slut onto the back of his eyelids. He lasted all of two minutes like that, and who could blame him? Fucking Tommy kept throwing his head back to expose his neck, kept licking his palm and stroking himself, kept moaning as he thrust his hips, riding Adam’s dick with wild abandon. It was enough to break anyone. When he came, he instinctively reached up and pulled Tommy into his arms, squeezing the life out of him until the waves of pleasure subsided. Tommy’s cum slicked their stomachs and dribbled onto the bed, and Adam tried to breathe.

“You smell like coffee,” he said after a while.

“New job,” Tommy mumbled against Adam’s neck.

“I know.”

“Stalker.”

“Shut up.”

They fell asleep a minute later, Tommy still wrapped up in Adam’s arms.

33

After a brief nap, Adam made Tommy his bitch, and Tommy let him. Once up against the wall with their lips locked together, once in the play room with Tommy face down on a metal table, and once in the hot tub.

At around two in the morning they were back on the bed, Adam kissing Tommy and fondling his tender and abused hole.

“Stop fucking doing that,” said Tommy, half yawning, half moaning.

Adam smiled. “Fine. How about this instead?” He slithered down, spread Tommy’s cheeks apart and began to flicker his tongue ever so lightly.

“If you’re gonna do that then do it…shit…do it right,” Tommy said, determined not to whine, determined not to let the slow, teasing licks make him beg for it.

“This is right…oh so right,” Adam purred, and licked a wide, wet circle around the very edge of Tommy’s hole. “So right,” he said again with a hiss.

“Just…” Tommy bit his knuckle, hard enough to make teeth marks.

“Hmm? Just what?” Again with the circle, long and languid and torturous, and Tommy bit down even harder, trying to kill the desperation that wanted to escape. “Just stick it in?” said Adam. “Just fuck you with my tongue? Hmmm, Tommy?” He flicked across the opening, still gaping wide as if it were longing for more cock.

Blood rose to the surface of the thin skin on Tommy’s knuckle. He sucked at it, nursed it, licked at the coppery taste as Adam continued to tease; his hips moved without his permission, started humping the bed, his knees sliding farther and farther apart, his ass lifting up, begging without words for more, please more.

He heard Adam chuckle and couldn’t decide which he hated more, Adam’s superior toppiness or the fact that his tongue wasn’t where it should be right now. Helpless and blushing with shame, Tommy let go of his knuckle, reached back with both hands and spread himself. It was as close to pleading as he’d allow, but still not good enough for Adam apparently, because that bastard actually stopped and withdrew his tongue altogether.

Furious, Tommy was about to let lose a tirade when he felt not one, not two, but three fingers plunge deeply. He cried out in pain and pleasure, a tear leaking from his eye when Adam began to stroke him on the inside, slowly at first, brushing his spot, almost caressing it, and then faster, a steady pump. Hot breath fell on his shoulder, and then there were teeth, a sharp bite and fingers ramping up to an all out fuck, jack hammering.

“Oh my god,” Tommy moaned loudly, finally giving in. “Oh my fucking…” His hips and limbs went still, every muscle focused on the building tension inside. He held his breath.

“Gonna make you scream my name,” Adam grunted, pulsing his fingers faster and faster. 

Tommy was already saying it in his head. _Adam. Adam. Adam._ It came ripping out of his throat a few seconds later, when every fuse blew up at the same time and pitched him into the total darkness of too much bliss.

Blackness, and then…Adam’s lips nuzzling his neck, nipping and kissing. Tommy blinked. If there had been any doubt in his mind about who was the top in this weird relationship-not-relationship, it’d just been completely demolished. _Fuck._

 

***

 

An hour later, Tommy sauntered back to the lobby, his breath hitching at the delicious pain of having been fucked into oblivion. He caught sight of Brad at the counter, giggled to himself and went over to taunt him.

Brad looked up from a magazine at his approach and gasped. “Oh damn.”

“Six times,” said Tommy, huffing on his knuckles and rubbing them on his chest.

“Fuck you,” Brad said with a pout. 

“No thanks, I’m quite satisfied at the moment.”

“Cocky little shit, aren’t you?”

“No more than Adam,” said Tommy, and he meant it. He leaned close to Brad, said, “See you next week,” and planted a brief kiss on his lips, just to fuck with him a little more. 

“God, Adam owes me big time for this,” Brad grumped, and went back to his magazine.

34

Back in the suite, Adam cleaned himself up, smiling contentedly as he did so. A few months of Tommy should get all the pent up need out of his system. Then they’d say goodbye and Adam could fully concentrate on his life. Maybe someday he’d even meet someone and fall in love again. Maybe.

 


	8. Chapter 8

35

How many fucks does it take to get to the center of a Tommy Joe Ratliff? Twenty-seven. Twenty-seven fucks. Tommy, lying on his bed one late Saturday afternoon in March, recounted each one, reminiscing his way through the last few months. His two favorites had both occurred recently, one in the middle of a fuck frenzy where Adam had let Tommy mark him, and the other just last night, where they’d done it only once.

It had started out like all the others, passionate and rough, but near the end a thread of tenderness appeared with a simple caress – Adam brushing Tommy’s hair from his face – and wove itself into the wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am game they’d been playing. Tommy secretly treasured it, and the forty-minute cuddle session that had followed the fuck. 

Tommy closed his eyes and remembered, how Adam had pinned him to the wall and fucked him, kissed him with ruthless need. Sweat dripping down the back of his neck. Adam grunting into his mouth as he thrust. Falling onto the bed, knees pushed back to his ears…and still Adam kissing him like he just couldn’t get enough. How Tommy had given into it all, his head spinning as he came, locked tightly in Adam’s embrace.

That’s when it’d happened, just seconds after the last shudder subsided. Adam looked into his eyes, smiled, and stroked his face. Tommy remembered the touch of fingertips on his skin, trailing gently towards his temple. He’d smiled back and hadn’t resisted when Adam proceeded to cuddle and spoon him for over thirty minutes. Dozing in and out of consciousness, his only thoughts were _this is nice_ , and _does that make me a pussy?_ and _who the fuck cares._ He might have mumbled something like, “I’m a one-man slut now, just so ya know.”

They didn’t talk about it, just got up, got dressed and went their separate ways as usual.

Tommy sighed, thinking about how satisfied he felt despite the voice in his head that kept warning him not to get too attached. He pushed it away. So what if he wasn’t fucking around with strangers anymore? Adam’s dick was worth ten stranger’s dicks. Why settle for inferior fucks when he could have five-star service? And sure, maybe he was slipping into a more submissive role, but somehow that pissed him off a little less each time he noticed it. Besides, he’d marked Adam, and not lightly. Mr. I’m-Too-Cool-For-My-Boots was still sporting the last remnants of a hickey that Tommy had made while riding his cock like a rodeo champion.

Yep, so far 2015 was turning out to be pretty damn good. Work was good. Sex was good. Adam was good. Keeping everything in perspective was good. Their relationship was about fucking, nothing more. Right? Right. Tommy yawned, stretched his arms and legs and got up. Reflection time was over. He was supposed to be on duty tonight as Sutan’s wingman and needed to get ready.

“How ‘bout that one?” Sutan said later that night, pointing to a guy dressed in a pair of stripper shorts.

Tommy looked, but shook his head. “I’m here to help you get laid, not me, remember?”

“Uh-huh,” said Sutan, rolling his eyes, “because that’s really stopped you from hooking up in the past.”

“Shut up.”

Sutan smirked at him. “Tommy and Adam sittin’ in a tree, K-I-S-S--”

“Shut up!” Tommy barked, blushing slightly. “Go and get me another beer, you fucker.”

36

The first time was an accident. Adam had just wanted to check out the place and he’d been positive that it was Tommy’s day off. Thank god he’d had the wits to grab a newspaper and dive behind it when Tommy suddenly appeared behind the counter. Adam hadn’t been able to leave right away, though. He’d tried to, sitting in the corner of Café Grumpy with his nose buried in a random section of newspaper, waiting for the right moment to slip outside. But then he’d heard Tommy’s laugh for the very first time. Next thing he knew, he’d been there almost two hours, peering around the paper every once in a while to catch a glimpse of ‘every day Tommy.’

The second time wasn’t an accident. He planned it and went in disguise, and by the fifth time, Adam grudgingly admitted that he had, in fact, become a stalker. His justification? Nothing that didn’t sound stupid when he said it out loud. In the end he had to accept that he was watching Tommy because he wanted to, plain and simple. He liked the way Tommy smiled when something amusing caught him off guard, this hesitant sort of grin that quickly disappeared as if worried someone might spot it. He liked the fact that Tommy used the side of his thumb to brush his hair out of his face. He liked watching Tommy’s slim fingers wrap around a coffee cup. He liked…

Adam sighed and pressed his fingertips to his eyelids. He had to stop this. His mouth set in a determined line, he waited for Tommy to go into the back so he could leave, and never return. As Fate would have it, however, a little boy and his mother walked into the café and ruined Adam’s plans.

The boy looked to be about two years old and was wearing a tiny pair of jeans and T-shirt with the words “Rock Star” printed on the front, right above a shiny red guitar. He toddled in, held securely by his mother’s hand, and they walked up to the counter. Adam couldn’t help but smile, thinking that someday Ravi would be walking around dressed in cute clothes like that. 

Tommy, who had just finished writing something on a clipboard, noticed the boy and smiled at him, too. “So you’re a rock star, huh?” he said, leaning over the counter. “You play the guitar, little man?”

Scolding himself for doing it, Adam managed to scoot up to a table near the front so he could watch the interaction.

The boy scurried behind his mother and then peeked around her leg at Tommy. “Oh he sure does,” said the woman with a chuckle. “Drives me crazy with it. Don’t know what I was thinking getting him that toy, but now he screams if I try to take it away.”

“Right on,” Tommy said. “I play the guitar too, you know.” Adam hadn't known this fact, but he loved the way Tommy said it to the kid, soft and endearing, encouraging.

“Wed?” asked the boy, taking a hesitant step forwards.

“Yep, it’s red. Every rock star needs a red guitar.”

The boy turned to his mother and looked up at her, his face beaming with excitement. “I yock stah!”

It was impossible not to melt a little at the boy’s cuteness, but Adam also found himself sighing internally at the way Tommy had interacted with him. Unbidden, an image of Tommy playing with Ravi popped into Adam’s mind. He gasped, loudly, and was suddenly caught in Tommy’s curious stare. Frozen in panic, he waited, hoping that his disguise was good enough.

Tommy’s eyes narrowed and then widened in surprise, seeing right through Adam’s Wal-Mart sunglasses, ski cap, scarf and rumpled clothing. In the next moment, surprise turned into anger. 

_Shit. Shit shit shit._ Hot with embarrassment, Adam was itching to bolt, but he couldn’t move under that glare.

“Ten minute break, Mr. Waterman,” Tommy called into the back. He came around the counter, brushed by Adam and whispered, “Outside.”

Adam grimaced and followed him.

37

As soon as they reached the alley out back, Tommy rounded on Adam. “What the hell? What the actual fuck?” He pushed at Adam’s shoulder, hard enough to make him stumble backwards a few feet. “You tryin’ to get me fired?”

“What? No, I--”

“I can’t have shit like this going on at work!” Adam’s mouth opened and closed but nothing came out. He looked utterly perplexed, but Tommy didn’t care. The few seconds of feeling flattered were gone. Mr. Waterman had zero tolerance for drama or personal issues. “What, you think I don’t care about my job? Think I live just to dick around with you?”

“I…I…”

“What, Adam? Just what the fuck do you think you’re doing to me here? What happened to keeping things impersonal?” The memory of their last time together loomed large in his mind then, and he clawed his scalp, yanking the roots of his hair in frustration. “I can’t handle this, okay? I just can’t!”

“I’m not doing anything to you! You’re the one who’s…you…I…” Adam stomped his foot and looked like he was about to punch something, maybe Tommy’s jaw again. He screwed up his eyes and took a deep breath instead. After a minute, he sighed and opened his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said at last, sounding defeated. He slumped in his too big sweater and baggy jeans. “I’m sorry, you’re right. This was a mistake…the whole thing. I should never have…” He shook his head, looked at Tommy and blinked a few times. Then he walked away.

Tommy stared after him, his hands still fisted in his hair. “Goddammit. God…dammit!”

Work that afternoon was nearly impossible. His focus was gone, his emotions scattered like the handful of stirring straws he dropped on the floor, each one flying in a different direction. “Stupid straws,” he grumbled as he picked them up. “Stupid Adam.”

“Is there a problem?”

Tommy turned to find Mr. Waterman frowning at him.

“Not at all, sir,” he said. “Just finishing the inventory and got carried away with the straws.” He threw his boss a confident smile that bordered on light-hearted.

“Good,” said Mr. Waterman. “Let me know when you’re done. I want you to contact a buyer about an up and coming new blend.”

Tommy nodded. This was why he continued to toe the line. Soon he’d have the knowledge and the contacts he needed to start his own business. He was almost there. He couldn’t afford to let anything distract him, not even a gorgeous, sweet, hot-as-fuck man named Adam. Tommy strangled the straws in his fingers until they cracked.

At home that evening, he made a list of all the reasons why Adam Lambert was a douchebag. One: he punched me in the face. Two: he’s a cocky motherfucker. Three: he’s emotionally intense. Four: he makes me crazy. _Why though? Why does he make me crazy?_ Tommy started making another list, but after scribbling out two pages he stopped and threw his pen across the room. It hit the only beer bottle on his once booze-littered coffee table, which wobbled but didn’t fall. So he tore the two pages from his notebook, crumpled them up and whipped them at the bottle.

“I change because I want to!” he yelled as it toppled to the floor. “It’s got nothing to do with him!” A tear rolled down his face and he ground it into his cheekbone with the heel of his hand. 

“Fuck this,” he said, sniffing, “fuck this. I don’t need him. I know how to get cock.” He got up, showered, put on some club clothes, stuffed his pockets with condoms and left the apartment. “I don’t need him,” he mumbled again as he signaled for a taxi.

38

Adam had purchased the baby swing several months before Ravi was born. It’d taken many hours of googling to find the perfect one, and Little Ra loved it. If he was fussy or overtired, all Adam had to do was strap him in and set it on speed two, and soon he’d be fast asleep. Aside from that convenience, Adam liked the soft, hypnotic clicking sound it made as it swayed back and forth. It helped him zone out and clear his mind, which happened to be something he desperately needed after his argument with Tommy at Café Grumpy.

Ravi smiled in his sleep, and Adam wondered what that four-month-old little brain was dreaming about. He lay down on his back in front of the swing and closed his eyes, listening to the _click, click, click._ After a few minutes he felt calm and focused. 

_Am I in love with Tommy?_ Adam waited for his heart to answer, and when it did he wasn’t all that surprised by the response. _No, because you won’t let yourself be in love with anyone but Jacob._ “But Tommy isn’t right for me,” he whispered. “He’s moody and unpredictable, irresponsible.” Adam had to admit that Tommy had changed though. He didn’t smell like booze anymore, he was accountable at his job and he’d apparently stopped sleeping around, or so he’d said during their marathon cuddling session last week.

Adam sighed deeply. How had he let this happen? When had fucking around become something more? And now that it had, could he really just walk away from it? His lips formed the words then: but what about Jacob? 

Out of habit, and because he didn’t know what else to do, Adam went to his closet and took out the statue. He placed it on the floor, sat down before it and clasped his hands together in his lap. “Help me,” he whispered, staring at it. Then he began to study every magnificent inch, as if the answers were there somewhere, etched into the details or outlined in precious stones. He even examined the back, the line of his own bronzed spine, his shoulder blades and the curve of his thighs. As his gaze moved down to the base, he realized that he’d never looked underneath, at the bottom of the statue.

It seemed silly and almost disrespectful to lay the piece on its side, but something urged him on, an inner voice or intuition. Very carefully, he lowered it to the floor and looked at the underside, expecting to see nothing. Instead, he saw three words carved into the metal:

THERE HE GOES

The song came out of his mouth without thought. “My baby walks so slow, sexual tic-tac-toe…no, wait. What?” Adam closed his mouth, looked over at Ravi (still sleeping in the swing… _click, click, click_ ) and back at the words. There he goes. There he goes? There who goes? Jacob? Adam? Ravi? Goes where? What had Jacob meant by this…this secret message? Adam just kept staring, his mind blank as a chalkboard, waiting for someone to spell it all out for him.

Dillon. Dillon would know, had to know. Adam jumped up from the floor, trotted to his bedroom and grabbed his phone from the nightstand. “Locate Ashram Studio,” he said to the phone. “East Village, New York City.” A second later the information he wanted was displayed on the screen. He pushed a button to dial the number and waited, biting on his pinky nail.

“Ashram Studio, this is Dillon.”

“It’s Adam,” he said, his heart fluttering wildly in his chest. “I mean Adam Lambert and I found the message on the bottom of the statue and please tell me you know what it means. Please, I have to know.”

“I don’t know what it means,” said Dillon.

“But--”

“Jacob said it was going to be a surprise, that you had to discover the words and then he would tell you what--”

“Well he can’t do that now, can he? Can he, Dillon? Because he’s fucking dead, isn’t he? So…he must have said something to you about it, anything…”

“He didn’t. I’m sorry.” His tone was soft and full of regret, but somehow that just made everything worse.

“You’re sorry? Are you? Well I feel a lot better now that I know you’re sorry, I mean who cares that I’ll never know what my dead husband meant to say to me, because Dillon, the artist who fucking made the thing, is really fucking sorry!” Adam was breathing hard now, his chest tight and painful. Several angry tears splashed down his face. 

“Adam, I’m--”

Adam hung up and threw the phone at his pillow. Then he threw himself at the bed, hugged his knees and wept as a wave of fresh grief washed over him. He rocked through it, resigned to the process, until it bottomed out after half an hour, leaving him empty and dry. 

“No.” The word echoed in the emptiness. No, he thought. There has to be something, maybe in a notebook or… He sat up quickly. Jacob’s notebooks. Yes! Of course! Adam had stuffed them in a box, unable to look at them. All those nights of watching Jacob scribble down his deepest thoughts, poetry and goodness knows what else – seeing his handwriting after his death had been too heartbreaking. But now…

“I have to know.”

Adam returned to the living room and saw that Ravi was waking up from his nap. “Good. You can help me with my treasure hunt, little one. Your daddy left us a message, and by God we’re gonna figure out what it means.” Ravi, of course, insisted on a diaper change and a bottle first. But after he was clean and had knocked back five ounces of formula, he was perfectly content to sit in Adam’s lap as Adam started to page through Jacob’s notebooks.

The pain that settled on his heart with page one of the first book felt like an anvil by page ten. He took a deep breath, kissed the top of Ravi’s head and plowed on, determined not to fall apart. But then he got to page seventeen and read: 

_I think I just met the love of my life. He has freckles on his lips and sunshine in his heart._

Adam closed the notebook and set it aside, his hands shaking. “I can’t do this,” he said in a whisper, and hugged Ravi tightly. Despite his burning need to unravel the mystery of THERE HE GOES, Adam put the notebooks back in the box and taped it shut. _Maybe in another year. Maybe then it will hurt less._ He made peace with disappointment because it was more tolerable than torturing himself with Jacob’s words.

But that night as he was lying in bed staring up at the ceiling, the mystery tumbled and clunked around in his brain like a pair of tennis shoes in a dryer. _It has nothing to do with Fever. Or if it does then there’s a double meaning…something deeper, more significant._ He gave himself a headache thinking about it, two pins pushing into his temples and puncturing the dull throb that was already there.

 _Must sleep._ He tried the CD Neil had given him but it didn’t work this time. He tried reading. He tried staring at Ravi and listing all the ways in which he was perfect. He even tried lurking Twitter in search of a distraction. _There he goes. There he goes. There he goes._ Adam groaned in frustration and, as a last resort, made a date with his laptop, the living room couch and his favorite porn site. He opened the web browser with every intention of grabbing his dick and jerking off, but when the Google homepage appeared, he automatically typed the three words that had been driving him crazy all day and clicked the search button.

The first few pages of results were littered with links to Patsy Cline’s country song. He checked out the song, dismissed it as irrelevant and moved on. Pages four, five, six – he found nothing meaningful. He saw the lyrics to his own song, Fever, then to a Pearl Jam number and then came a bunch of pointless news articles and snippets of nothing. He took a break to tend to Ravi around two-thirty and then went right back at it. On and on he searched, becoming obsessed, thinking that surely, surely the answer had to be there somewhere. The Internet knows everything, right? 

At four in the morning, his eyes bleary and watering, he stumbled across a poem called “There He Goes Again,” which was boring and unimaginative. But it gave him an idea. He altered his search keywords and, after following a few links, discovered another poem, this one by Henry Van Dyke, a 19th Century American author. It was called “Parable of Immortality (A Ship Leaves).”

I am standing by the seashore.  
A ship at my side spreads his white sails to the morning breeze  
and starts for the blue ocean.  
He is an object of beauty and strength,  
and I stand and watch  
until at last he hangs like a peck of white cloud  
just where the sun and sky come down to mingle with each other. 

Then someone at my side says, ‘There he goes!’  
Gone where? Gone from my sight - that is all. 

He is just as large in mast and hull and spar  
as he was when he left my side  
and just as able to bear his load of living freight  
to the places of destination.  
His diminished size is in me, not in him. 

And just at the moment when someone at my side says,  
‘There he goes!’  
there are other eyes watching him coming,  
and other voices ready to take up the glad shout:  
‘Here he comes!’ 

This is how I see and understand death. 

Adam read it again. And again. And four more times after that. With each read he felt something lifting, or expanding, or something. He fell asleep and dreamed of sailboats.

39

The guy who had his cock up Tommy’s ass looked nothing like Adam. He didn’t feel like Adam either. Didn’t smell like Tokyo Milk cologne or taste like mint and coffee. Didn’t have Adam’s passion. _Because he’s not Adam! Leave it alone and enjoy the fuck already!_ Tommy had had this conversation with himself, mid-fuck, four times in the last week. And then came the after-fuck mental battle. He’s not cuddly enough. His smile doesn’t reach his eyes the way Adam’s does. He laughs like a donkey. His hands are too cold. He seems so gloomy.

“Aren’t you done yet?” he asked the current non-Adam.

The guy halted his hips and pulled out. “Yep. I’m done all right.” He snapped off the condom, got dressed and left without another word.

Tommy flopped onto his bed in a huff. He hated the fact (for it was clearly a fact now) that Adam had gotten under his skin so thoroughly, like an itch that went muscle deep. He didn’t want to scratch it, and yet he did, and badly. He curled himself into a tight ball, trying to handle the sudden intensity of his desire for Adam. It was so strong in that moment that it finally wrenched open the iron lockbox of awful questions, and they came flooding out, each one more terrible than the last. _What if it all blows up in my face? What if…_ Tommy shuddered, the air suddenly chilling his bare skin. _What if he leaves me? What if he turns out to be a cheater like my dad?_ And finally, _What if he dies? Like Jacob…my Jacob, his Jacob…_

“Better to choose loneliness,” Tommy mumbled into his pillow. “At least I’d be in control.” But his heart ached at this. He tried to push the questions back into the box, but they wouldn’t go. Freed from their prison, they tormented him until he couldn’t take it anymore. 

He put some clothes on, pulled the shoebox out from underneath the bed and lifted its lid. Inside were three items. A black and white photo of his grandmother, crouched on her knees in the desert, clearing thin layers of earth with delicate tools. A bat fossil she’d given him from one of her cave digs, its long spindly arms splayed out as if they were waving at him. And the _sa_ , an ancient Egyptian symbol of protection from his grandmother’s personal collection.

Tommy took it out and held it to his chest. He wasn’t really into symbolism and religious stuff, but he believed in spirits, and the spirit of his grandmother emanated from the _sa_ like the scent of a blossoming rose. “Help me,” he whispered.

He closed his eyes and saw her on her deathbed, felt the warm metal of the _sa_ as she pressed it into his palm, heard her final words in his ears: “For protection, but live as if you don’t need it.”

Live as if you don’t need it. Hadn’t he done that? Hadn’t he been brave to leave California and strike out on his own? Wasn’t he being fearless in his efforts to start up a business? 

“But what about love?” came his grandmother’s voice. “You’re still hiding from that.”

Adam’s face shimmered into being like a mirage. Sparkling eyes, soft lips. _It’s too complicated, too scary, Grandma. It’s too much for me._

“Is it?” she seemed to say. “Is it really too much for my fierce little boy?” The mirage shifted and became the Eye of Horus, the one tattooed on Adam’s wrist, surrounded by freckles and pale skin.

“Oh,” said Tommy.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem by Henry Van Dyke was written long enough ago that copyright laws do not apply to it. It looks as if the poem was originally written with the pronoun "she" instead of "he," but in several places it's written with "he." For those interested, here is a link to a picture of an Egyptian _sa_ : [Symbol](http://www.dragonscale.com/uploads/7/3/8/4/7384059/3069448_orig.jpg?131)


	9. Chapter 9

40

Adam had been through plenty of rough patches in his life, times when he could have used some inspiration such as the poem by Henry van Dyke. But one of those times, the earliest he could remember, had occurred before he could read or understand poetry. As he closed his eyes and sank into the couch, the memory surfaced and spread out like spilled paint on a kitchen floor.

When Adam was a baby, his mother had given him a brown and white stuffed giraffe. His tiny fingers could barely grasp its long neck, but by age two they were wrapped around it nearly twenty-four seven. The giraffe went everywhere with him and he would howl if anyone tried to take it away. Once when he was learning how to use the potty, Adam dropped Freddie (a good name for a giraffe, Adam thought) into the bowl and his mom decided that washing it in the sink wasn’t good enough this time. She had whisked it away to the evil washing machine and Adam had cried nonstop until it was clean and returned to him. Freddie gradually became worn and threadbare, but Adam loved him all the more.

Then, three years later on his very first day of Kindergarten, Adam set Freddie down so he could practice tying his shoes. When he looked up from the tangled knot of laces, Freddie was gone. Adam searched everywhere for him, asked the teachers to help him and even walked up to kids he didn’t know and said in a trembling voice, “My giraffe?”

Adam didn’t want to believe that Freddie was really gone. He kept looking for him at school, positive that he would eventually turn up, and told his parents repeatedly that it was only a matter of time. But time stretched on with no luck. “Why did someone steal Freddie?” he asked one afternoon, stomping his feet in frustration. “It’s not fair!” He went to bed that night sniffing angrily and wishing he had the power to send a monster after the thief, something squishy like a jellyfish monster. The next morning he woke up, looked at the empty spot where Freddie usually slept and realized that he’d never see him again. The tears seemed endless when reality set in, raining into his bowl of cereal, blotting his cut and paste projects at school and dampening his pillow at night, when he felt Freddie’s absence the most.

To his little mind, life would never be the same again. He couldn’t imagine how he was supposed to carry on, not when his beloved companion had left him forever. Only after a month did he stop crying for Freddie every night. Not long after the tears dried up, his mother asked if he wanted a new giraffe. “No,” he’d said, “only Freddie can be my giraffe.” Adam chose a fuzzy gray wolf instead, and soon it went everywhere with him, just as Freddie had. The wolf would never be Freddie, but Adam loved his new companion; it was special in its own way.

*

Adam still remembered that little giraffe, and the wolf, too. _It’s not the same._ No, of course it wasn’t the same, but the pain of loss was real to him then, just as real as the pain he felt when he lost Jacob. Smaller and certainly not as life changing, but real nonetheless. And, just as he had when he was a little boy, Adam discovered that he could, in fact, survive the pain, and maybe he could even accept something new into his world.

He read the poem again before making the call to Ashram Studio. He apologized profusely to Dillon for his previous behavior and was instantly forgiven.

“Completely understandable,” said Dillon.

“Thank you. So, um, moving on. Do you still have that Libra painting I asked about a while back?”

“Of course. You told me to set it aside for you and I did.”

“Great,” said Adam, smiling. “I need to arrange to have it delivered this Saturday, with a note, to an address in Chelsea.”

“I’ll take care of it personally.”

41

The first time the doorbell rang, Tommy heard it in his dream. He and Adam were snuggling and smooching. “Ignore it,” said dream-Adam, “whoever it is will go away.” Tommy agreed, but then he heard it again and thought it might mean something important. In the waking world, his ears registered a series of muffled gongs until at last one of them smacked him into consciousness. His body started so hard that he fell out of bed and banged his head on the floor.

“Fuck! Ow fuck!” He winced and clutched his skull, his heart pounding so hard he felt it in his throat. The doorbell continued to chime. “Fuck off!” But whoever it was seemed determined and started knocking loudly. Grumbling, he got up and stomped to the door. “It’s fucking Saturday morning! Whoever you are, you--” But then Tommy was staring at a man in dreadlocks who was holding onto a gigantic wrapped rectangular… something. And the man was staring back, his mouth hanging open. Tommy bristled. “What? You expect me to be dressed at this hour?”

“I…sorry, I just…he told me to get here early.”

Tommy saw the words ‘Ashram Studio’ printed on the package and the hairs at the nape of his neck prickled. He didn’t ask the question, somehow already knowing the answer.

The man, presumably Dillon, handed him a small envelope. “Here,” he said, and then mumbled, “I hope you’re worth it.”

Tommy suddenly felt small and very aware of his nakedness. He blushed, but managed to sound insulted. “Meaning?”

“That’s it,” said Dillon. “I hope you’re worth it, worth this gift and the efforts he made.”

“Well…I made efforts, too, you know. I’m the one who went to the Cock bar and found out what Jacob was doing there. I’m the one who tracked down your studio and told Adam that he could probably find Jacob’s present there.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, so…”

“I’ll just leave this for you then.”

“Fine.” After Dillon left, Tommy stood in the doorway, opened the envelope and read the note inside:

I saw this and I thought of you. I’m sorry. Please call me. –Adam

Tommy sat on his couch and stared at the package, his characteristic impulsivity having fled in fear. Opening the gift meant accepting it, and somehow accepting it meant saying yes, yes I’m willing to give us another shot. Another shot at what, though? Fucking around? No, it would be more than that now and Tommy knew it.

He looked around his tiny bachelor apartment. Whatever the gift was, most likely some kind of art, Tommy was sure it didn’t belong in a shithole like this unless it was that picture of dogs playing poker. He chewed on a fingernail. He got up and put on some underwear. He toed at something under the couch, a lone shoe without its mate. He bit his lip as his grandmother’s words came to him again: But what about love? And before he could change his mind, he tore the wrapping off the gift.

“Oh shit,” he whispered. “Shit.” 

There she was, the Libra Goddess, offering him both the day and the night. “Take me,” the dark half called, “and I’ll feed your passion.” But then the light had her say. “No, take me, and I’ll feed your heart.” 

Tommy’s eyes traveled down Libra’s trunk to her roots, planted deeply into the world of all things. “You are the night,” she told him, “and you are the light.”

He shuddered, and then he called Adam.

42

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

Adam switched the phone to his other ear, said, “hi,” again and cringed. “So, um, you like it?”

“Adam,” said Tommy, “it’s too much.”

“Does that mean…”

“It’s gorgeous, really…yeah and, but you didn’t…you shouldn’t have…there’s nowhere to put it.”

“Too bad,” said Adam, allowing himself a small smile. “It’s yours now so you’ll just have to find somewhere to put it.” He heard Tommy huff.

“I’m not good at that kind of stuff, decorating and…well, but I bet you are, right?”

Adam looked around his living room. He was damn good at decorating.

“Still there?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I’m here. But…I can come there. I can, you know, help you find a place for it.”

There was another brief silence. “What are we doing?” asked Tommy.

“No idea.”

“Okay.”

“Okay. I’ll be there in an hour.” Adam hung up, called Danielle to see if she could take Ravi for the day and got ready. 

Since he really didn’t know what he and Tommy were doing, he opted for a pair of jeans and a simple v-neck sweater. Then he packed Ravi up and headed to Danielle’s.

“So,” said Danielle as she hoisted Ravi to her hip. “What’s the plan?”

Adam shrugged. “To live, to move forward, to see what I can see?”

She barked out a laugh. “You’re meeting up with a hot guy, not discovering a new country.”

“I know,” he said, “but it kind of feels like I am. Tommy is…” He shook his head and waited for the words to come, but it was Danielle who had them.

“Let’s see, how about risky? Exciting? Gorgeous? Sweet and sassy?” Adam nodded, feeling a bit helpless. She nudged him affectionately. “Just go with the moment. Maybe things will turn out and—”

“Maybe they won’t.”

“Exactly. And since when has that stopped you from doing anything, like, ever?”

Adam beamed at her, his heart lifting. “I love you.”

“I love you, too. Now go have some fun.”

“Not without a goodbye kiss for my Ra.” Adam planted a big, silly, buzzing smooch on Ravi’s cheek until the baby squealed with laughter.

43

They stood at the doorway, both looking unsure until Tommy couldn’t stand the awkwardness and invited Adam inside. “Look,” he said, trying to muster some bravado, “I’m sorry I got all pissy before, but...”

Adam stepped up to him. “I know. I shouldn’t have been so creepy, stalking you and shit. I got carried away.” He sighed. “It’s been hard.”

“Yeah?” Tommy cocked his head and couldn’t help but smirk. Being this close to Adam made all his naughtiness stand at attention, and he suddenly couldn’t remember why he’d been so upset.

Adam chuckled, a slightly wicked glint in his eye. “Yeah.” He seized Tommy’s wrist and pulled him closer. “Wanna kiss and make up?”

As an answer, Tommy dove for Adam’s lips, so sweet that he was amazed he’d ever thought about not tasting them again. The non-Adams faded away as the real one let out a sexy little moan, grabbed Tommy by the back of the neck and licked into his mouth. 

The painting was forgotten, all of their energy focused on each other. But something was different. Tommy felt it in the softness of Adam’s fingertips when they cupped his jaw. Then he felt it in his own heart, and nearly broke the kiss. He told himself to stop being a fucking scaredy cat, and allowed Adam to caress his cheek as they made out. He ventured a caress, too—up the front of Adam’s zipper. How long had it been since he’d had that gorgeous cock inside him? Far too long.

His caress turned into petting, then a rhythm of steady circles as Adam walked them to Tommy’s small bed in the corner of the studio. They went down like lovers and for a minute, things were headed that way, undressing each other with care and soft nips to skin. But with the last toss of clothing, lust took over and the beasts came out to play.

Tommy heard a snarl as Adam slammed into him. He welcomed it. He wanted this, to be mounted and claimed, if only for a brief time before he took what he wanted. He told Adam without words, with a receptive body and a submissive spirit. 

Adam listened.

44

Whatever this was, Adam loved it. He felt the give in Tommy’s being and consumed it in large, hungry mouthfuls. He licked each bead of sweat on Tommy’s brow, each tear that leaked from those brown eyes as he fucked with ruthless abandon, the skin-slapping noises so loud they almost stung. He pressed, bent, pushed until Tommy’s toes were touching the wall above his head, still licking, still kissing, still taking. Drowning in the open expression on Tommy’s face, mouth slack with pleasure, eyes rolling back.

And then, in an instant, he missed Tommy, _his_ Tommy. Tommy the fighter. Tommy the spitfire, the badass. 

He paused.

Tommy looked up at him and winked.

Then they really got it on. It began with a bite to Adam’s neck, perfect lips sucking blood to the surface. It ended with cuddling in Adam’s bed, at Adam’s house. And between those two points, it went something like this…

Tommy, now on top, put his hands on Adam’s chest while Adam slid his to Tommy’s ass. They shared a naughty look as Tommy started to ride him, slowly at first. 

“Hickeys look good on you,” said Tommy, “I should make more.”

“Uh huh. You’re just lucky I let you.”

“Like you could stop me.” Tommy thrust his hips sharply and leered at Adam. “You may be a top, but I know how to fuck you.” 

Adam had to agree. Tommy moved as if dancing to a trance number at some underground club, sensual and rhythmic. But just as Adam was getting into the groove, Tommy stopped, clenched his muscles and delivered a series of short, hard thrusts that made Adam gasp. His cock swelled inside Tommy. “More,” he panted.

Tommy returned to the dance and laughed at Adam’s attempts to make him go faster. “Say please.”

“You wish,” said Adam, and pulled Tommy down so he could kiss that snarky mouth. It was a dirty kiss, but Adam couldn’t control the tenderness that he knew was in his hands as they played on Tommy’s skin. Tommy did nothing to stop it. If anything he seemed to be enjoying it, and Adam felt his heart wobble. _Damn it all. Don’t fall for him just yet. Give it some time._ Right.

Dancing again, but this time Adam joined in, rolling his hips to meet Tommy’s. They continued to kiss, Tommy threading his fingers into Adam’s hair and tugging softly. 

“Want you,” Tommy said, in such a needy, husky whisper that Adam shuddered in response.

“You have me.”

“I have you.”

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

Tongues went back to licking, boys went back to fucking. A little bit fast. A little bit sweet. Tommy sat up and got off three pumps of his dick before coming all over Adam’s chest, and that was all it took for Adam. He dug his nails into Tommy’s thighs…his body throbbed, tightened and finally released with a cascade of pleasure. He heard Tommy whisper, “beautiful,” and crushed him to his chest, rolled them over and poured his stumbling feelings into a deep kiss.

A few minutes later he and Tommy were attempting to cuddle in Tommy’s tiny bed, but there just wasn’t enough room to get comfortable.

“We wouldn’t have this problem in my bed,” Adam grumbled as he shifted to keep from falling onto the floor.

“Yeah well, since I’m banned from your house, I guess this’ll have to do,” said Tommy.

“I didn’t ban you.”

“You told me never to come near your house, if I remember correctly. Same thing.”

There was a moment of silence while Adam considered his next move and Tommy wiggled closer to the wall, trying to make himself smaller. 

“Well maybe I’m changing my mind,” said Adam. “Maybe I like the idea of pounding your ass in a king sized space.”

“Maybe I like that idea, too,” said Tommy, so softly it was almost a whisper.

The universe seemed to pushing them together with giant, cosmic hands, and Adam couldn’t resist. “Good. It’s settled then. Then that’s what we’ll do. We’ll go to my house.”

Tommy sat up but didn’t look at Adam. He ran his fingers through his hair and said, “I’m nervous, too.”

The confession was a gift, a rare glimpse of a porcupine exposing its soft underside. Then it curled up again, needles sharp and at the ready. But Adam had seen, and it calmed him.

“So,” said Tommy as he stood, “you must have like, a mansion and ten bathrooms or something, right?”

“Sure, and bidet in each one,” said Adam with a playful smile.

“Those things that shoot water up your ass?”

Adam laughed and hauled himself up. “Yeah, wanna try one out?”

“Nah, I think I prefer cock.”

They continued to banter while they got dressed, Tommy teasing that Adam probably had heated floors and an aquarium headboard above his bed.

“Well of course I do. Counting fish is way better than counting sheep.”

45

The instant Tommy stepped inside Adam’s house, he wanted to leave. And then he wanted to stay. Leave. He felt the warmth of Adam’s hand on his shoulder. Stay, definitely stay. There was no tour and no pretense, just a long, maze-like walk to Adam’s bedroom.

“No fish,” said Tommy as he watched Adam pick up a little baby crib next to the bed and put it in the hallway. Instead of derailing him, seeing the crib made Tommy feel good. He’d been invited into Adam’s private world. He was special. 

“Come here,” said Adam when he was done. He pulled Tommy to him and into a slow and sensual kiss. 

It felt extremely intimate. Tommy stayed, but worked his fingers down the front of Adam’s pants to get things going. He toyed with Adam’s cock through his underwear, rubbing the head and enjoying Adam’s halting breaths, tiny inhales and gasps. Somehow it felt natural to drop to his knees, but he didn’t go for everything all at once, just unzipped Adam enough to play with him.

Mouth to cloth, Tommy sucked and licked at Adam’s dick until it was so hard that the head rose above the elastic band. Tommy flicked his tongue at it and Adam moaned, twined his fingers into Tommy’s hair. Tommy did it again, and realized that this wasn’t about winning or being in control. _I want to make him feel good._ Startled, he tried to breathe but found it difficult; there didn’t seem to be much air in his lungs just then. He looked up at Adam, saw how his eyes were closed and his lips parted on the edge of anticipation. _I want to make him feel good,_ came the thought again. After a few deep inhales, Tommy smiled to himself and returned to his task.

He spent so long at it that the front of Adam’s underwear became midnight black, soaked with spit and precum, so long that Adam started whining and humming, his legs trembling.

“Can’t…take much more,” Adam said between panting breaths, and Tommy responded by moving him toward the bed, knee walking, still licking, nudging Adam with his nose and mouth. He kept going until Adam’s ass hit the bed, then took Adam’s shoes and pants off and tongued his balls through the wet cotton. Liberation, that’s what this was, some kind of bizarre freedom; the more he focused on making Adam feel good, the better he felt inside. 

But then, “Tommy…Tommy…” Adam said it so tenderly that Tommy panicked a little, just a mini freak out, and then he was okay again.

“Right here,” he said, stripping down to his underwear and climbing up on top of Adam. They shifted to the middle of the enormous bed and it was just skin and a bit of cloth between them now, dry humping and grinding with arms and legs wrapped around each other. Tommy buried his face in Adam’s neck as they writhed, almost afraid to kiss him like this. Stupid feelings. Stupid heart. He went for it anyway.

46

Adam felt alive, like a green shoot breaking through a foot of frozen ground. The sun felt glorious after so long in the dark. He had no idea if this relationship with Tommy would grow into something more, and he was okay with that. The important thing was the way Tommy was kissing him, openly and without an agenda, a sharp contrast to their needy bodies thrusting, hard cocks rubbing together. They came in their underwear, hands in each other’s hair, mouths sharing air, puffing it back and forth as they reached the peak of orgasm.

“Hot damn,” Tommy said, and Adam chuckled and hugged him tight. 

 

*

 

“Japan.” said Tommy. “That would be first on my list. Very modern, lots of androgyny. Now it’s my turn. What’s your favorite food? And don’t say kale…there’s no way you can like that as much as your fans say you do.”

“I do like it,” said Adam, “but it’s not my all time favorite food. That’s ice cream.”

“Flavor?”

“French Silk. Okay I’ve got one. What would you do if you won a bunch of money? Like, fifty thousand or something.”

“That’s easy, I’d buy a bike café so I could start my own coffee business. Gonna do it, too.”

Adam wiggled out of his big spoon position and propped up on an elbow so he could look at Tommy. “What’s a bike café?”

“It’s a little coffee stand that you pull with a bike. I’ve got one all picked out.”

Adam tried to picture Tommy riding all over the city and selling coffee. He grinned. “I can see it now.”

“Seriously I’m gonna do it, at least for a while until people get to know my brand. Then I can open up a real store.”

“I don’t doubt it,” said Adam. “You always seem to get what you want,” he added with a sly smile. 

Tommy snickered. “Glad you noticed. Now get back down here, I’m cold.”

Adam snuggled up again and was about start nibbling on Tommy’s ear when he heard noises in the house and then, unmistakably, the sound of Ravi crying. He bolted out of bed, threw on a pair of sweat pants and was almost out the door when he remembered Tommy. “Stay here, I’ll be back.”

The co-sleeper in the hallway tripped him up, but he righted himself and hurried towards his boy. He found Ravi and Danielle in the nursery. She was rummaging through a stack of baby books on a shelf while Ravi howled, his little face as red as a sunburn.

Adam rushed forward and Danielle jumped at the sight of him, knocking a few books to the floor. “Jesus!” she cried, clutching at her chest, “you scared the crap out of me!”

“Is he hurt? What’s the matter?” He reached for Ravi and Danielle gave him over.

“He’s fine,” she said, “just overtired and I couldn’t find his favorite book. Thought it might be here.”

“The one about ducks? Hey now, it’s all right, Daddy’s got you,” he crooned, bouncing Ravi gently in his arms.

“Yeah, the duck one.” She looked at him, half naked and his hair all wild. “Adam, what the hell are you doing here? Are you…oh my god, you brought him home, didn’t you?”

Adam didn’t answer right away, just focused on soothing Ravi until his cries started to subside. _I could lie, tell her that I came home early and was napping._ He shook his head. _Right, like she’d buy that load of BS._ “So what if I did?” he finally said, trying and failing to keep the edge out of his voice.

“Are you kidding? I think it’s fantastic. Where is he, hiding in your bedroom? I want to meet him.” She actually took a few steps towards the door and then stopped, laughing at Adam’s stricken face. “Oh relax. Just let me find the book and we’ll be out of your hair.”

“No, wait…hang on.” Ravi settled down as Adam paced around the room, thinking. Would it be stupid to have Tommy meet Ravi? Too soon? Tommy might run for the hills. Then again, maybe it’d be good to find out now rather than later. On the other hand, it was a huge step. Adam might as well look up into the heavens and tell Jacob, “I’m over you.” _But I’m not over him. I’m not. Am I?_

“Stop hurting your brain,” said Danielle, “I can hear the gears crunching from here.”

Adam tossed a cautious smile at her. “I think I want to introduce Tommy to Ravi. I mean, after Tommy’s properly dressed, of course. What say you, mama?”

She looked so beautiful in that moment, hair tucked behind her ears and her face softly glowing. “Mama says okay.”

47

Tommy wanted to feel special, true, but maybe not _that_ special. In the end, he agreed because he didn’t want Adam to think he was scared. He wasn’t scared. He was terrified. He’d already stepped over the line, but meeting Adam’s son would launch him headfirst into the land of commitment, a foreboding place filled with quicksand traps and cheaters pretending not to be cheaters.

Adam stood there and watched him get dressed, his expression one of forced poise. _So he’s scared, too. Then why ask me?_ Tommy mentally rolled his eyes as he realized the answer. _This is a test. He wants to see if I’ll bail on him._ Tommy straightened up, squared his jaw and nodded at Adam. Sometimes, you just have to get on your bike café and ride. “Let’s do this.”

They marched through the house as if about to face a dreaded enemy, but when they arrived at the enemy’s camp, they found a baby and a woman there instead. The baby made a cute sound and Adam’s face split into a grin. “This is Danielle, my baby mama,” he said, indicating the woman, “and this…this is my boy, Ravi Jacob Lambert.” Adam took the baby in his arms and pecked him on the forehead.

Ravi _Jacob_ Lambert. Of course. Tommy wanted to cringe, but he couldn’t because…well, Ravi was seriously adorable.

“Hi,” he said to Danielle.

She walked over to him and put her hands on his shoulders. “Hi,” she said, and then she hugged him.

Confused (but not in a bad way), Tommy went with it. Afterwards, he cleared his throat and stepped up to the dynamic duo. Adam was pretending to eat Ravi’s fingers, making him giggle. When Tommy got close, the game ended and Ravi turned those big blue eyes on him. “Hey, little guy,” he said. Ravi blew a spit bubble, and Tommy laughed.

A little later they were all lounging on the floor. Adam was entertaining Ravi with a set of giant plastic keys, but stopped when Ravi started trying to roll over onto his stomach.

“He’s been doing that all week,” said Danielle.

“Almost there,” said Adam, “he’s just got to get his shoulder underneath him.”

Tommy leaned forward, caught up in a moment of anticipation. In a way it was like he was watching himself, willing himself to stop flailing around and take the plunge. “Look! Hey look,” he said, feeling proud. “There he goes!”

48

Adam caught his breath and the world went fuzzy, slowed down and stretched like taffy. Then a warm shiver went through him and pulled things back together. He blinked, smiled, put one hand on Tommy’s knee and the other on Ravi’s back. “Yeah, there he goes.”

 

-End

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Artwork by Josephine Wall


End file.
